Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 790

She finished chopping the vegetables and was about to turn on the stove when suddenly, he appeared behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. His head dropped down, resting gently on her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin.

Clara froze, her hand gripping the skillet handle, completely at a loss for how to react.

But he only held her for a few seconds before letting go. “If this is too much, just let someone else handle it,” he said softly.

Her mind went completely blank, and she stood there for what felt like ages, staring into space. By the time she snapped out of it, he was already gone.

She moved on autopilot after that, not even sure how she managed to finish cooking. When she finally set the dishes on the table, she still felt dazed, like she was floating through a fog.

It wasn’t until she pressed a bowl of soup into his hands that she seemed to wake up again. “Eat,” she told him quietly.

He took the bowl and started eating in silence, head bowed.

Clara watched him, not sure what to say. The silence between them felt strangely heavy.

She bit her lip, took a spoonful of soup for herself, and immediately winced as the taste hit her.

Too salty.

So salty it was almost bitter.

She glanced over at Dylan, but his expression didn’t change at all. He just kept eating, calm and quiet, as if nothing was wrong.

She took his bowl, scooped up a spoonful, and tasted it—just as awful, if not worse.

That’s when she remembered: Dylan had lost his sense of taste a long time ago.

She held the spoon tight, not knowing what to say. He seemed to notice nothing and asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

A sharp ache bloomed in her chest, sadness nearly overwhelming her.

She’d thought that if she cooked for him every day, maybe he’d remember her, maybe he’d treat her a little more gently. But someone who can’t taste anything can never enjoy good food. All her effort, all her carefully tweaked recipes—they meant nothing to him.

And yet, he never complained, never looked annoyed. Even if he couldn’t taste it, he was still gentle with her.

Clara put the spoon down, disappointment written all over her face. Just then, he reached for a napkin and gently wiped her cheek.

He’d never been so defeated by food in his entire life. His dignity was gone—he felt like the punchline of a joke.

When he finally recovered, he stared at Dylan, then at Clara, completely stunned.

Neither Dylan nor Clara said a word, but Jackson couldn’t hold back.

“Clara, you seriously took cooking lessons? Whoever taught you should be banned from teaching, I swear. No wonder your food isn’t winning anyone over—you’re more likely to send someone to the hospital!”

Nicholas, sitting nearby, let out a cold laugh. “You’re being dramatic.”

Jackson took a deep breath, ladled some soup for Nicholas, and pushed it toward him. “Go on, try it.”

Nicholas grabbed the spoon, but before tasting, shot back, “You’re just spoiled, Jackson. Dylan and Colin spent years in the army—they’re not as pampered as you.”

With that, he took a mouthful.

“Pfft!”