Chapter 176

Nina tried to convince herself, but deep down, she knew Jonathan wasn't romantically interested in her. She wondered if it was because she hadn't confessed her feelings, or maybe they hadn't confronted the unspoken truth between them. She wasn't sure if Jonathan truly cared.

Nina and Alex were cooking next to Cynthia and her friends, allowing them to observe each other. Instead of ignoring Alex, Nina smiled. "Alex, can you make pork chops?" she asked. They were her favorite, and Jonathan knew it. Back in Betrico, he often took her to an old restaurant for the best pork chops; those were some of their best memories.

Nina glanced at Jonathan. His gaze swept over to them; his brows were slightly furrowed, and his deep-set eyes seemed unhappy. Seeing his expression, Nina felt reassured. She thought he did care about her, feeling like a child who'd just received a treat. She picked up an apron, saying, "Alex, let me tie this for you."

Alex saw through Nina's ploy, but happily played along. Jonathan watched with a frown for a moment, then looked away.

Cynthia stared blankly at the ingredients. Cooking wasn't her forte. She'd learned many skills quickly growing up, but cooking wasn't one of them. She rarely ventured into the kitchen. At Greenfield Villa, she'd once tried to make noodles and nearly set the kitchen on fire. Since then, she'd avoided the kitchen.

Jonathan walked over to Cynthia and casually asked, "Is there anything you feel like eating?"

Cynthia glanced at him. "Chicken cacciatore. Can you make that?"

Jonathan's expression remained calm, his voice steady. "Let's make that then."

Cynthia was surprised. She knew chicken cacciatore was complicated. She thought, Is Jonathan really going to make it?

Jonathan didn't hesitate. "You can assist me."

Meanwhile, Abby and Preston were also choosing ingredients. Abby was hungry but didn't want chicken, duck, or fish. Seeing flour, cream, and various fruits, she had an idea. "Preston, let's make a cake!"

Preston immediately rejected Abby's suggestion, instead picking a live star eel. His eyes sparkled. "Let's make grilled eel instead. What do you think?"

Preston hoisted the eel, and Abby's face paled. The writhing eel evoked memories of the snake, and a bitter taste filled her mouth. Her salivary glands went into overdrive, and she spun around to vomit.

The live chat exploded:

[Preston's doing this on purpose! First the snake ham, now this eel. This is bullying, and Abby's fans won't stand for it.] [Preston, get off the show! We're boycotting you online!] [Guys, calm down, I still want to see Mr. Bennett make chicken cacciatore.] [Cynthia has no idea what she's doing. The way she's handling that knife, it's like she's about to go to town on someone.]

Everyone prepared their ingredients. For the chicken cacciatore, Jonathan gathered chicken, seafood, and an array of vegetables.

Cynthia, while not a cook, was confident with a knife. She grabbed a large kitchen knife and went to the cutting board. She picked up a chicken, ready to chop, when Jonathan stopped her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, alarmed.

"Helping," Cynthia replied, frowning.

"You don't need to do this. Just get me some firewood," Jonathan said.

Cynthia huffed. "What are you worried about? I'm chopping chicken, not you."

"I'm not worried you're going to chop me," Jonathan retorted.

But Cynthia wasn't listening. She nudged Jonathan aside, spun the cleaver, and began to work. Sparks flew.

Five minutes later, Jonathan stared in disbelief. The chicken was perfectly deboned, skinned, and diced.

[Wow! Cynthia's knife skills are insane, she must have practiced on more than just vegetables.] [She's so cool! I'd let her slice me any day.] [Chicken: If I'd known I was going to get diced this well, I'd have stayed an egg.] [Mr. Bennett's eyes are about to pop out of his head. I have the same expression.]

Jonathan was surprised but quickly hid it. "Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked.

He knew Cynthia had a range of skills—making perfume, playing chess, dancing, even boxing—but her knife work was unexpected. He wondered, What exactly was she learning this for?

Cynthia replied coolly, "None of your business."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "I said to cut the chicken into pieces, not strip it to the bone."

Cynthia had deboned the chicken with a single, smooth motion, perfectly following the bone structure. It was impressive, but also unsettling. The strange thrill on her face was new to him.

Cynthia paused, realizing her mistake. She flushed, embarrassed. "Sorry, I got a bit carried away." Her eyes lit up. "Anything else need cutting?"

At Ethan's station, he was busy frying meatballs, deftly scooping seasoned meat and dropping it into hot oil. Once golden and crispy, he'd remove them to drain.

Jess ate them as fast as Ethan could make them. After a while, Ethan glanced at the empty plate, puzzled, and looked at Jess. "Did I even fry any meatballs, Jess?"

Nina and Alex were getting along well. They chatted and laughed, sharing intimate moments. But when Nina noticed Jonathan didn't glance her way as she wiped Alex's brow, her mood soured.

Everyone was busy for a few hours, but Cynthia and Jonathan's group fell behind. While others had relatively simple tasks—fried meatballs, pork chops, grilled eel—Jonathan's chicken cacciatore ingredients took hours.

As everyone started eating, Jonathan was still at the stove, surrounded by steam. When everyone woke from their naps, Jonathan was adding wine. His chicken cacciatore was ready. Even before lifting the lid, the aroma was incredible.

The final section is incomplete; the text cuts off mid-sentence. I've cleaned up what was provided.