Gwyneth’s mind was still reeling, Bennett’s words echoing like thunder while the warmth on her cheeks refused to fade.
Then Bennett’s voice, lazy and teasing, broke the silence again, as if tossing another log on a blazing fire.
“They said—” He paused on purpose, his eyes drifting over Gwyneth’s flushed face with a hint of admiration. “You look beautiful.”
Gwyneth felt her face was about to catch fire.
She ducked her head in a flash, wishing she could hide in her sturdy ceramic bowl. Her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt nervously, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
Beautiful? He actually repeated that out loud.
How was she supposed to respond to that? Deny it? Stay silent? No matter what she chose, it seemed like she’d only embarrass herself more.
Just as the awkwardness grew unbearable—she was ready to disappear into the floor—footsteps sounded at the kitchen door.
Mr. and Mrs. Harrison entered, carrying the last steaming dish: a plate of glistening sweet-and-sour ribs, their aroma filling the room.
Mrs. Harrison smiled kindly, her eyes full of warmth. She clearly noticed Gwyneth’s discomfort, but said nothing, simply setting the plate down and pulling an old but spotless phone from her pocket.
Her fingers tapped the screen quickly, then she turned it toward Gwyneth with a gentle laugh.
On the screen, a simple message read: “Go on, try some! Bennett said these are all your favorites!”
Gwyneth blinked at the words, surprised. Instinctively, she glanced at Bennett.
He was already picking up a fork, moving with a grace that made it hard to believe he’d just teased her moments before. Sensing her gaze, he looked up, his expression unreadable, and gave a slight nod—quietly confirming what Mrs. Harrison had written.
Gwyneth’s eyes wandered over the table: a crisp salad of shredded lettuce, tender poached shrimp, rich braised pork, a fragrant mushroom soup, and the just-served sweet-and-sour ribs.
Every dish was one she loved—some of them so particular, she rarely even ordered them at restaurants.


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