Shay got out her cooking ingredients: canned tomato sauce, dried noodles, Nuri’s creole garlic... bAsIL (or was it basil?)

Tyvan leaned on the opposite side of the counter, looking fine, as always.

“What would you like me to do?”

Aw! Tyvan was always super sweet! Shay almost fell in love with him all over again. But if she was going to win his heart, then she needed to solo a cooking win! She needed a win, so bad!

“Just sit back and let me do this for you!” she exclaaAaaimed.

“Err... alright.”

Shay got a pot of water onto the stovetop. Yessss. Everything was going just fine. She was a veritable expert at boiling water.

Tyvan was... watching her from where he stood, though? That made her nervous. She thought about ignoring him so she could concentrate. But wasn’t that a waste? He was there-- with his broad shoulders, soft smile, and gorgeous hazel eyes... so Shay had to at least appreciate his presence.

And she did love appreciating his presence.

“Ah, while you’re here,” Tyvan said, “There is an order of business I need to complete.”

“Okay?”

That was... weird. But... Tyvan always prioritized doing business-related things. And it was probably something simple, considering they were at home. Did she have to take a survey or--

Tyvan stepped into the open kitchen. He walked behind her... and...

Shay felt his big hands sweep against her sides.

Oh.

Ohhh.

It was happening!

(What exactly that was, she had no idea, but whatever it was, it was definitely happening!)

Shay felt something press into just above her waist... so she sucked in her stomach and ceased all breathing activity.

“You’re holding your breath,” he said-- no. He whispered it into her ear! But why did he sound like he was accusing her? He was right, but still--

“Is that important?” she said-- with half of the air she had left.

“Stop that.”

“I d’n wanna~!”

Shay looked down... and saw... measuring tape? --the tape that got used when getting fitted for clothes?

Suddenly, Tyvan put his hands on her sides. She was ticklish, so she giggled-- and that made her resume breathing functions.

Mmm. She always loved the scent of sandalwood in Tyvan’s hair... What shampoo did he use?

Suddenly, he snatched the measuring tape away, looking down at the number next to his fingernail.

Oh, no! She was tricked!

Shay cringed both inwardly and outwardly. What was the number? And wHat was he tHiNKiNgggg??

She looked at Tyvan’s face, trying to analyze his expression for even a single, tiny, abysmally minuscule trace of disappointment.

Annnnd... she remembered that he DIDN’T HAVE ANY EXPRESSIONS!!!

That wasn’t fair!!!

Tyvan took a few more measurements. Shay thought she’d be more embarrassed when he was measuring her chest, but--

D’ah. Everything was embarrassing.

“Okay. Get out of the kitchen,” she said. “You... I... Argh! I can’t cook with you here!”

Tyvan tilted his head. “You’re... boiling water.”

“That still counts as cooking!” Shay snapped, “Now go on! I can do this! Don’t worry about me! --and don’t watch, either! --so you can be surprised!”

----------------------------------------

Tyvan Valorum... believed Yan Xue’s demands to be rather unfair.

They were in his apartment. And she was using... his cookware and stovetop.

He considered... arguing? --or otherwise conveying some form of indignation, just on principle.

However... he didn’t particularly mind Shay’s insistence.

She agreed to share her world-renowned garlic bulbs solely out of magnanimity.

And ultimately, her offering her culinary expertise on his behalf was a notion, most endearing.

Over the past several years, he’d always been the protector. He was the guide. He was the provider. Elysium was a sanctum of his design. He’d established the Solaris Group with his own ability. And he had never-- not once failed to remunerate a contractor or employee within five business days of the agreed-upon date.

Thus, it was... rare that he was the one to be offered to rest and relax.

Or... perhaps it was not only that.

Shay’s insistence may have been... a request for faith. No. It most certainly was, whether intentional or not.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Shay was a natural troublemaker when left to her own devices... but surely her propensity for chancing upon victims of homicide and attracting the attention of violent murderers did not extend to his kitchen.

Err.

...He was technically a violent murderer.

--in his past life. Mostly. Almost exclusively. In his current life, he’d largely avoided unintended civilian casualties.

Of course, there might have been... one exception. Two, at most.

Anyroad...

The likelihood of an incident in his territory was infinitesimal. Elysian Heights was the most secure fortress in Archangel. Then, his apartment, at its heart, was nigh impregnable.

Unfortunately, after a scant... thirty minutes, the cruelest murder occurred.

Yan Xue had prepared... something.

It appeared to be an attempt at Pasta al Pomodoro.

The sauce was thin. That woman had failed to use the starchy pasta water to thicken it. And, as there was a great deal of it, it wasn't a noodle dish as much as a noodle soup. (She did set the table with a fork and spoon-- so that may have been intentional.)

Tyvan glanced into the kitchen-proper. The container of salt was not amongst the ingredients prepared.

However, there were three different spoons in the sugar container. Ominous.

Two stalks of cut celery rested on a chopping board. Why... celery?

Considering the short cooking time, caramelising tomato paste would have still achieved a depth of flavor that could close the gap with a simmered-for-hours pomodoro. No can or tube of tomato paste appeared present.

Ah... and the spaghetti, itself...

It was overcooked.

And...

--each individual strand appeared... short?

Had she?

No...

Shay had snapped the dried noodles in half before boiling them.

Tyvan’s heart... fell.

--as frail and weak as the soggy, broken noodles in his tomato soup.

Such was considered a grave offense to him and his household.

Granted, he understood why the practice occurred. Callum’s wife, Mirabel, made her pasta in a similar manner. As a young child, she learnt the practice on account of frugality.

Granted, both Callum and Shay were paid enough that such was unnecessary.

Tyvan took a breath, suddenly recalling the domineering nature of his biological father. A strict adherent to tradition, his father would have demanded Shay be removed from the premises. Then afterward, he would have been admonished for allowing such a tragedy to unfold.

So... the meal was a failure-- whether or not Shay had realised the fact.

Nonetheless, there were still other things he could enjoy.

Tyvan peeled a fresh garlic clove and snapped it in half. He consumed his share and offered Shay the other.

“...Oh, it’s not that spicy?” she said.

“It’s lovely. It was a wonderful gift. I’d advise you to nurture that friendship.”

“Okay! I will. Um... Do you wanna try what I made!?”

Tyvan gestured to the seat across the table. “You first.”

After a moderate pause, Shay lifted her chin, her expression brazen and unapologetic. Despite that, the words that came out of her mouth were, “I’m scared.”

“...I, too, have my reservations.”

They sat down at the dinner table... and finally, Shay sampled her fare.

“I... I think I used too much soy sauce,” she said.

Tyvan nodded in thought. So she could think. “Non-traditional ingredients, my dear, are best used in... small doses.”

The pasta... the scent...

It was...

Hm.

“You don’t have to eat it,” Shay said, her voice pathetic and murmurous.

She gazed down at her travesty of a dish, broken and defeated.

It was a painful lesson Yan Xue had learned. But... she had learned. Reinforcing that lesson with further criticism was unnecessary.

But the problem still needed to be fixed; he was still hungry.

Tyvan stood up. He put his very cool snake apron back on. Then, he walked behind the kitchen counter.

“Assist me in slicing the garlic. And... perhaps you might consider this a lesson of sorts.”

The water from the boiling pot was still warm. And he always had dried pasta in his pantry.

So... in about ten minutes, Tyvan prepared a lovely Aglio e Olio, a simple garlic and spaghetti dish.

He intended to impress rather than be healthfully minded. Thus, he also added butter, a non-traditional agreement. (So it was actually... Aglio e Olio e Burro.)

He spun the noodles around a fork to plate it to a fashionable height. A sprinkle of fresh parsley and basil finished the presentation: simple and functional, yet artful.

And once served, the meal began in earnest.

“I... kinda don’t understand how the stuff we cooked is so different,” Shay said... “but this is... so much better.”

“This dish better brings out the star ingredient,” Tyvan smiled. “And for it, you have my sincere gratitude.”

Shay returned her own smile, soft and lacking confidence. As of recent, that had become more common for her.

“I... honestly don’t know why you keep me around, sometimes.”

“I do,” Tyvan replied. “Take heart, Shay. “Cooking is a skill. If you’ve a mind for it, I can teach you-- similar to how you’ve delved into tea from Heidi and kung fu from Song Wei.”

Shay seemed to mull over the notion, nodding thoughtfully.

Hopefully, she would be thus be inspired into positive action.

“Can you teach me magic, too?”

Hmph. So she still wanted that? The notion was so absurd he felt offended by it.

“May I ask about your lessons concerning pill creation?”

Shay went back to eating as if neither question had been asked.

That would do.

And then he remembered:

“Ah... I’ve fresh strawberries in the refrigerator. Shall we have them afterward for dessert?”

Shay looked across the table, her eyes almost aglow.

“C... could you say that again?”