Lycan king's substitute breeder novel Chapter 55

Oregon

Vivian chewed slowly, savoring the taste of the food. She closed her eyes and smiled. When she opened her eyes, she looked at me.

"How is the food?" I asked, raising a brow.

"It's delicious!" she exclaimed, giving me a thumbs up. "Wow, you cook well. You really put in a lot of effort and it's worth it."

I let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you like it," I said. "I was a little nervous since I've never cooked for someone before. But I wanted to make something special for you, and I'm glad it came out great."

"Here, taste it," she said, holding the spoon up to my lips. I opened my mouth, ready to take a bite of whatever delicious treat she had prepared.

But just as I was about to sink my teeth into the morsel, she pulled the spoon away and took a bite herself! I was left standing there, my mouth open, staring at her in shock.

Did she really just tease me with a bite of food, only to eat it herself?

"It's so nice that I can't share," she said, giving a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, but you will have to eat yours."

I gave a half-hearted pout but took a few bites anyway. The flavor was truly exquisite, and the texture was just right. "It's delicious," I said, giving a nod.

"It's good, right?" she asked, smiling.

"Yeah, it's delicious as usual," I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

"You should start your cooking show!" she joked, and I laughed.

"Oh…" she giggled, pointing at my face.

"What?" I asked, slightly alarmed. I tried to look in the mirror by the side, but she gently pulled my face to hers, and our eyes locked. I felt a flutter in my chest.

"Hold on," she whispered and took her gaze down, stretched her arm towards me, and picked something off my lips. My eyes widened in surprise when I felt her warm and soft touch.

"What is that?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"It's just a piece of grain," she said with a smile, holding it up for me to see.

"Oh," I said, feeling a little embarrassed for having asked. We returned to our plates, the atmosphere still light and friendly.

"By the way," she said, "Who taught you to cook? Your food is so delicious and well-prepared. I'm surprised you can even find your way around a kitchen, let alone cook a meal like this. Was it your mother who taught you?" She looked at me, a slight smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "No, my mother wasn't much of a cook," I said quietly. "She never really taught me anything about cooking. Would it be hard to believe if I said I have never tasted her meals before?"

"Oh my!" she exclaimed. "Then who taught you to cook so well?"

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "My father," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She leaned forward, her eyes wide. "Your father?" she asked, her voice just as quiet.

I nodded, not wanting to meet her gaze.