Miranda playfully teased, “No, no, what kind of host makes their guest work in the kitchen?”

“This guest is more than happy to help,” said Paul.

With an extra set of hands, the prep work was done much faster. Once everything was ready, Miranda took the sea bass out of the scallion–lemon–vinegar water, placed it on a plate, and dried it with kitchen paper before applying a thin layer of oil to lock in the freshness.

With nothing else to do, Paul stood by and watched. “Need any help?”

“Could you hand me the oven tray from up there?”

“Sure.”

Paul was tall, so reaching it wasn’t a problem, but the tray was hung directly above Miranda’s head. He had to stand behind her to grab it.

As he reached up, it felt like he was enveloping her within his arms.

Thankfully, the entire exchange happened in a flash, so even though they were close, it didn’t feel awkward.

“Thanks,” Miranda extended her hand.

Paul passed it to her, and in the brief moment when their fingers brushed against each other, his breath caught.

Miranda, however, didn’t seem to notice and simply took the tray, placing it in the oven and beginning to cook the fish.

“Uh, anything else I can do to help?” Paul pulled back his hand and cleared his throat.

Miranda glanced over the counter, “Hmm… everything’s prepped, and the ingredients are ready. You can head out now, I’ll handle the rest.”

The kitchen in the old-style apartment was small. Once Paul stepped out, it felt significantly more spacious. She also noticed, perhaps it was just her imagination, that the temperature seemed to have dropped a little.

Twenty minutes later, Miranda turned off the gas, removed her apron, and brought the dishes to the table. Paul hadn’t been idle either–he had already set the table with heat-resistant mats and cutlery.

“Isn’t there still a bowl of soup in the kitchen? I’ll get it,” he said, not waiting for Miranda to respond as he headed toward the kitchen.

Sure enough, there was still mushroom soup waiting to be brought out.

Miranda glanced at his back, then looked at the fridge. After thinking for a moment, she got up and grabbed two cans of beer. As soon as she turned around, she met Paul’s calm gaze.

“Uh… Winter came over the other day, and we bought these together. Dr. Jefferson, do you want a drink?” she asked.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Miranda found it strange–why did she feel guilty?

Seeing her slightly evasive expression, a hint of amusement flickered in Paul’s eyes. “I have to head to the lab later, so I’m not drinking.”

“Oh. Then I…”

Paul continued to look at her steadily.

Miranda swallowed, “won’t drink either, I guess?”

“Good. Come on, let’s eat.”

Miranda had no choice but to obediently put the beers back in the fridge.

The two of them then sat down. After taking a deep breath, Miranda suddenly stood back up.

As she looked seriously at Paul, she spoke with a sincere tone, “Dr. Jefferson, thank you for all your help during this time. If it wasn’t for you lending me your lab, I’d probably still be lost in self-doubt, unable to take that next step."

“Let me… toast you with soup instead of alcohol.”

Earlier, she had considered opening the beer just for this moment, but she had to improvise since Paul wasn’t drinking.

“I only lent you a space. All the experiments and data were your own work,” Paul said, not taking credit. He had seen her efforts and knew he had only provided a small bit of support.

He made it sound so simple, but Miranda knew that a laboratory was a very private space, often containing important data and confidential documents.

He had truly trusted her, allowing her free access to the lab.