Chapter 3

I looked up at Mr. Gilbert.

His eyes were flat and still, like the question hadn't come from him at all.

Under the table, Tristan tugged lightly at the hem of my dress.

Reminding myself this was my first visit, I gave Mr. Gilbert a polite little smile.

Then I lowered my head, chewed slowly, and finally spat the bone splinters off to one side.

"These ribs are really something, Mr. Gilbert. Tender, melt-in-your-mouth, sweet without being heavy."

He gave a small, satisfied nod.

"You've got good taste. Have some more if you like it."

After that, with every dish, he had to ask.

And each time I said the same thing I'd started with, forcing out words I didn't mean.

But I told myself, deep down:

"Jade, you only have to do this once."

Beside me, Mrs. Gilbert and Tristan had clearly seen it all before, and neither of them batted an eye.

The meal ran a full hour.

Before Mr. Gilbert went to lie down in the bedroom, he told me,

"Next time, let me know ahead of time what you'd like to eat. We don't keep a lot of ingredients on hand, so I'll need to prepare."

I answered with a stiff little laugh.

"Really, Mr. Gilbert, there's no need to go to all that trouble. Simple home cooking is more than enough."

He waved a hand, pleased with himself.

"Now, you can't say that."

"Tristan must have told you. Before I retired, I was head chef at an executive hotel."

"For me, cooking is both a pastime and a passion, and on top of that you all enjoy eating it. Three good things at once, really."

Tristan cut in then.

"Mom, Dad, it's getting late. We should head out."

"I already got a room ready for you. You're not staying the night?"

Mrs. Gilbert looked reluctant to let us go, but Tristan shook his head.

"Jade and I both have work, and the place we're renting now is close to the company. We're not thinking about moving back home for now."

Under the two of them smiling in their disappointment, we drove off.

Back at the rental, I kicked off my heels and flopped onto the soft, sunken mattress without a shred of dignity.

"God, that meal really opened my eyes."

Tristan sat down beside me with a rueful smile.

"Honestly, I don't quite get it myself. My dad wasn't always like this."

I shot upright like a fish flipping off the ground and fixed my eyes on him.

"Okay, out with it. What's the story here?"

He fished a cigarette out of his pocket, and I grabbed the lighter off the nightstand to light it for him.

"Before he retired, my dad used to bring food home all the time."

"Back then we hadn't moved into the house yet, so in the neighborhood, my brothers and I were about the most envied kids around."

"In an era when families couldn't get enough to eat, my dad had meat on the table three times a day."

He was remembering the good old days, and the corner of his mouth curled up on its own.

"The three of us grew up big and strong. Nobody could take us in a fight."

"Too bad that all changed once he retired."

"At first, he took the kitchen over from my mom, and the three of us were pretty happy about it."

"Until one day, my oldest brother muttered that it was the same handful of dishes over and over."

Hearing that, it all made sense, though something still didn't add up.

"By rights, your dad should be a great cook. So why were the dishes today so strange?"

Tristan sighed.

"In my dad's day, the diners weren't allowed to tell the chef how to do his job."

"Whatever he made, you ate!"

"I didn't want to hide this from you, I just could never find the right moment."

I caught the discouragement and the fear in his voice, and I lifted a hand to point at my own nose.

"Are you trying to ask whether I'll still dare to marry you?"