(Author’s POV)
"Elio, dear, why are you eating so little? Are the dishes not to your liking? Should I make sothing else?" Sandra asked, concernedly. He has been absentmindedly picking at the food on his plate. His eyes kept drifting towards Myra, every now and then.
"Oh no, ma’am. Everything tastes so good. Even the Michelin chefs cannot make such delicacies," Elio praised, trying to sound cheerful. "Especially these quesadilla rings are amazing. The hint of ginger you put in it is making it more flavorful and aromatic."
"You will have to thank your Uncle William for that. He is the one who made those," Sandra said, her eyes shining with nothing but pride for her husband.
"Ohhh, really? Sir, it is really delicious. I think your whole family is full of chefs," he said in a playful tone.
"Uhh~ ... whole family, you are right about that. But~~~ .... there is an expectation here as well," Yelena muttered, her tone lighthearted as she winked at Wendy. "My dear lassie here, she is exceptional with her hands. The artworks she makes are beautiful. Even inside the kitchen, she is good with chopping and prep, but when it cos to the next step, she is~ .... *sighing exasperatedly* kinda hopeless."
"Sis Yel," Wendy called her na, her face flushed. It wasn’t a secret, per se, that Wendy couldn’t cook; even Nora was aware of that, but she was embarrassed and even a little mad at Yelena for speaking about it in front of Elio. After all, nobody wants to show their vulnerable side to their romantic interest. Do they?
She shook her head, gesturing Yelena to please stop, but for so reason she kept on going, "Rember when Aunty told you to add a li~ttle salt to that vegetable stew, and you doused a spoonful in it, and when you adamantly said you would make breakfast for everyone, but you ended up burning the eggs instead of frying them. The white layer was all charred up. No one was able to finish breakfast."
"Cooking is just not my cup of tea," Wendy said in a small tone. She was dejected, her face lowered.
"Seriously, Wends~ .... when you get a boyfriend, ask him whether he can do the cooking and stuff," Yelena comnted casually. Then she turned to Elio and inquired, "By the way, Elio, do you know how to cook?" Her brows raised with question and curiosity.
"Unfortunately, I am no better than Wendy, if not worse. At least, she is handy with cutting and chopping. I don’t know much about that stuff," he stated casually.
"Uhhho~ ... I thought the way you picked up the subtle taste of ginger, you knew how to cook. What if you end up with soone like Wendy? What would we call it, amatch made outside the kitchen? Hahahaha."
Elio was caught off guard by the sudden question and remark. Dion, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, was stifling a chuckle. It was so obvious to him that Yelena was trying to set Wendy up with his younger brother. It was just too clumsy an attempt.
Even Brave could tell that. But from what he had known of Yelena, he knew that she would never deliberately try to drag Wendy or, for that matter, Myra’s image down. She was trying to play the villainous role as the bridge between Elio and Wendy.
"I am a dical student, Yelena. So, my senses regarding slls and tastes are higher than those of ordinary people," Elio remarked with a serious face. "As for your second question, skills can be developed and honed after, whether it be cooking, drawing, writing or anything else. Wendy has many other qualities. Whoever she chooses to be with would be a lucky person. As for , I don’t care about all that stuff. A loving, kind, strong and independent partner is all I wish for." With his words, he was trying to comfort Wendy as a friend.
But Wendy’s face turned even more crimson, this ti with shyness. She took it as a sign. Sign that the feeling might be mutual. This gave her courage.
Myra, on the other hand, was sipping her soup without being a part of the conversation. Just like the others, she could sense that Yelena was trying to help out Wendy, but that was sohow making her feel a lot discomfited. It even sounded like Elio was interested in Wendy. It was causing a twinge in her chest.
She stole a glance at her dear sister’s face, who was blushing pink and red. But when her eyes darted towards Elio to see his reaction, they locked onto his greenish blues. The cutlery slipped from her hands as she couldn’t help but choke and went into a series of violent coughs.
Everyone got flustered, and the Everests’ boys were ready to be in action, but the one to react first was Dion. Actually, he was sitting right next to her. He patted Myra’s back, rubbing it in a circular motion. When her coughs lessened a bit, and she was feeling a bit better, he handed her a glass of water, "Here~ .... drink so." His voice was soft and attentive.
Myra took a sip. Dion kept on looking at her intently, patiently. When she moved the glass away, there were a few droplets left on her lips.
Dion, without hesitation, took out his handkerchief and tenderly helped her clean her mouth. He didn’t even care that the room was full of people, even her parents and his mother were staring at both of them with a dumbfounded expression. He just kept on going like it was the most natural thing. After all, he didn’t want to hide his feelings.
Myra could feel the intense gaze, especially that of Brave and Elio, as she hurriedly took the piece of cloth and said, "I can do it myself. Thank you." Dion didn’t insist and withdrew. Feeling awkward, she got up and muttered, "I need to use the bathroom," and sprinted to her room.
Once inside, she gazed at her face, which was as red as a tomato. Her eyes were slightly moist because of all that coughing. She raised her hand to touch her lips; they held a bit of heat from Dion’s gentle touch. Then she glanced at the handkerchief she was still clasping tightly.
To Be Continued . . . . . . . .
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