Chapter 30: A Pleasant Breakfast
On Richard’s fourth day back, Rebecca had a huge fight with him. Richard stormed out, slamming the door, while Rebecca collapsed onto the sofa, sobbing into her hands. She had waited six long years for the man she wanted to spend her life with, yet after just a few days together, she realized this wasn’t the life she had envisioned. Richard cared more about whether she could inherit the family fortune than about her love. Rebecca felt lost. She couldn’t even articulate what kind of life she truly wanted. But inexplicably, her mind drifted to memories of Alistair bustling around the kitchen in an apron while she played carefree with Daniel, building blocks in the living room.
While Rebecca spent the night sleepless and distraught, Alistair slept soundly until morning. He woke refreshed and, seeing it was still early, went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Though cooking wasn’t part of his responsibilities, he figured he might as well do something productive. He opened the double-door refrigerator, pulled out ingredients, and got to work. Back in the day, he had cooked every single meal, and after a few days without practice, he worried his skills might rust. This was his only real talent—he couldn’t afford to lose it. He planned to open a small private restaurant someday. Not to cater to many customers or to make money, since he likely wouldn’t need it, but simply to keep himself occupied and avoid falling into idleness. On good days, he’d welcome guests; when tired, he’d pack his bags and travel. Living out his days so leisurely sounded perfect to Alistair. Long gone was the ambition of his youth—now, he just wanted to live comfortably, doing as he pleased. Today, he decided to make shrimp and vegetable pasta with eggs. Rolling up his sleeves, he stood at the sink, carefully washing the greens. He realized that cooking for different people brought entirely different experiences. Preparing three meals a day for Rebecca had been a mandatory task—like a robot programmed to follow orders mechanically. But now, standing in the kitchen again, it felt strangely enjoyable.
Just as he finished washing the vegetables and reached for the pasta, he sensed someone watching him. He turned toward the kitchen door. Caroline stood leaning against the doorframe, staring at him absently. Freshly awake, her uncombed hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders, her delicate face free of makeup. Her head rested lightly against the frame, her gaze fixed on him. But when Alistair met her eyes, he realized they were unfocused—less looking at him and more lost in some distant memory. “Sorry, did I wake you?” He had deliberately moved quietly after getting up, trying not to make noise. Caroline snapped out of her thoughts and shook her head. “No, I was already awake. What are you…” Alistair glanced at the pasta in his hand and suddenly realized he hadn’t asked if Caroline or Eloise even wanted pasta. He took too much initiative.
“I thought I’d make some pasta. Would you and Eloise like some?” Caroline smiled, “Of course.” Relieved by her genuine reaction, he nodded. “Great. It shouldn’t take too long.” He resumed prepping the ingredients. Rebecca had been picky—particular about pasta firmness—so Alistair had learned to time everything precisely. Caroline remained in the doorway, making no move to leave. Alistair suddenly felt like a schoolchild doing homework under a teacher’s watchful eye, so nervous he couldn’t even work out the simplest arithmetic problem. But Caroline wasn’t a stern teacher. Her eyes landed on the kitchen timer, and she frowned. “Are you conducting a chemistry experiment? Do you need it timed to the second?” Alistair chuckled, “Just habit.” Caroline didn’t reply but still didn’t leave. To ease the awkwardness, Alistair grasped for conversation. “Any dietary restrictions?” She shook her head. “I’ll eat anything that isn’t terrible.”
Alistair nearly laughed. Sounds like she’s easy to please, but what exactly counts as “not terrible” to her? After a few days together, he’d learned that beneath Caroline’s cool, unapproachable exterior lay an easygoing nature. Caroline seemed to hesitate, as if wanting to say something, but in the end, she stayed silent. She had meant to remind Alistair that his only duty was accompanying Eloise—he didn’t need to do anything else—but she held back. She wanted to taste the pasta he made himself.
Soon, Eloise woke up too. Dressed in an adorable lace-trimmed nightgown and clutching the little brown bear she slept with, she scampered into the kitchen, eyes wide. “Daddy, you can cook too? You’re amazing!” Her flattery was effusive. Alistair grinned. “Yep. Just tell me what you’d like, and I’ll make it for you.” But to his surprise, Eloise shook her head. “No.” Alistair prided himself on his cooking skills—honed under Rebecca’s relentless demands—enough that even Vivienne’s mother still reminisced about his dishes. “My cooking’s really good. You don’t have to worry about it tasting bad.” Eloise kept shaking her head. “Still no.” “Why not?” “Because then you’d have to work too hard. I don’t want you to get tired.” Alistair froze, warmth blooming in his chest. Did I accidentally stumble into heaven?
By the time Caroline and Eloise finished washing up, the pasta was ready. “This is so yummy, Daddy! It’s the best pasta I’ve ever had!” “It’s so good. I could eat ten plates!” “Daddy, is there more in the pot? I want seconds!” Eloise was his most enthusiastic fan, filling breakfast with her constant praise. Caroline didn’t offer much commentary, quietly finishing every bite—even using bread to sop up the remaining sauce. That, more than anything, was the highest praise.
Once in the car, Alistair—still basking in the morning’s compliments—grew tense as he remembered their destination. I’m going to meet Caroline’s family finally. Even if their marriage wasn’t real, he worried about making a bad impression. Well, whatever comes, I’ll handle it. By chance, his eyes met Julian’s in the rearview mirror. Julian smiled at him, and Alistair smiled back. Just as Julian opened his mouth to speak, a cool voice cut in, “Drive.” Julian sighed inwardly. Seriously? You’re guarding him like this? I just wanted to say hello. Is that not allowed? Some friend you are—throwing away years of camaraderie the second you get a husband.