Chapter 1122

Kale tossed the fish onto the cutting board. Debra laughed. “What’s going on? Running out of chefs?”

“We have chefs,” Kale replied without missing a beat, “but none of them know how to make carp soup.”

“It’s simple to make. What kind of chefs are they?” Debra reasoned.

“I’ll come back for it in half an hour. Thank you for your help,” Kale said, leaving the kitchen.

Their whole exchange was simple and dry. Debra looked down at the fish and shook her head.

Time passed, and eventually, Kale returned as promised. Debra, having simmered the soup for twenty minutes, handed him the steaming pot. “There you go. But fish soup is a bit too nutritious for breakfast,” she said.

“Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Houston,” Kale said, his tone oddly formal. He quickly took the soup upstairs.

Upstairs, Drake glanced at the fish soup and asked, “What’s this?”

“Fish soup made by Mrs. Houston,” Kale replied.

“Debra? She made this for me?” Drake raised an eyebrow. “Since when is she so kind to me?” He glanced at Kale skeptically. “Are you sure?”

Kale nodded without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Well, she has a heart after all,” Drake smiled without realizing it. He picked up the bowl and took a sip. The rich, savory taste of the broth spread across his tongue. He smacked his lips and commented, “It’s alright.”

“Well, then. I’ll leave now,” Kale said.

Drake called out, “Pass on my thanks to her. Tell her I appreciate the gesture, but there’s no need for her to go through the trouble again.”

“Understood,” Kale replied, exiting the room.

Outside, he ran into Debra, who was coming upstairs. “Did he have the soup?”

“Yes,”

“What did he think of it?”

“He said thank you.”

“Thank me for what? If he hadn’t asked for it, I wouldn’t have bothered making it,”

“Uh, Mr. Houston is probably still waiting for you in his room. You’d better go back.”

Kale was afraid Drake would hear their conversation from inside. Just then, Drake called out, “Kale, let her in.”

Kale reluctantly stepped aside, and Debra pushed the door open. Holding the food for Marion, she saw the fish soup sitting on his desk.

Drake eyed the food she was holding and said, “I’m actually not that fond of seafood.”

“So?” Debra replied.

“I appreciate the gesture, but there’s no need to overdo it,” Drake said, tapping the table lightly with a finger. “Just leave them here. I’ll eat them later.”

Debra looked down at the sandwiches in her hand. “Wait. Do you think I made these for you?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No. These are for Marion. If you want some, just have your chef make them. They don’t know how to make fish soup, but I’m sure they can make sandwiches.”