Chapter 13 - A Seat at the Table
“Well, if I don't owe you money,” Maya said, her eyes twinkling with affection, “then you owe me a dinner partner.”
Adrien let out a low, rare laugh that echoed warmly through the quiet kitchen. “I think I can manage that, Chef.”
Maya walked over to the stove, turned on a low flame under a small copper pot, and began rolling out a fresh batch of potato dough she had set aside.
Adrien pulled up a wooden stool beside the counter, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up past his tattooed forearms. He picked up a wooden fork and reached for a bowl of flour.
“What are you doing?” Maya laughed, watching the terrifying mob figure get flour smudged on his dark designer shirt.
“I’m helping,” Adrien insisted, dusting his hands with flour. “Rosa taught me how to fork-crimp the edges when I was seven. I haven't forgotten a single step.”
Maya watched in awe as the powerful, dangerous man delicately crimped the edges of the potato dough with incredible precision and care. Beneath the rough, tattooed exterior was still the little boy who had sat on a milk crate in her grandmother's alley.
They cooked together in comfortable, joyful silence as the late-night city quieted down outside.
May you like
When the fresh batch of gnocchi was finished, Maya plated two portions with rich tomato sauce and placed them on a small wooden table near the back window.
👉 As they sat down together, a sudden knock sounded at the back alley door.
