Chapter 7

Delia caught all of it-every little detail between them. It stung, but instead of backing down, she just grew more determined to change. Pushing Curtis's wheelchair into the living room, she forced a gentle smile onto her face. "Honey, are you hungry? I can make you something to eat." The moment those words hit the air, Noah and Edith both froze. Even Curtis seemed a bit stunned. "I thought you weren't feeling well?" he asked softly. Delia's cheeks flushed. She quickly cleared her throat. "I took the meds in the car. I'm feeling way better now." Noah had grabbed some medicine earlier, but honestly, she hadn't even waited for it to kick in. She'd been so wrapped up in figuring out how to win Curtis over that she completely forgot she was supposed to still be 'sick.' Curtis just gave her a small, unreadable smile. Delia hurried to park his wheelchair near the sofa. "Alright then, tell me what you're craving. I'll whip it up for you," she said with a playful tone. Before Curtis could even reply, Noah nearly jumped out of his skin. Delia? Cooking? Since they got married, she hadn't lifted a finger in the kitchen. Cooking, to her, was practically a foreign language. She always claimed smoke from the stove would ruin her 'delicate' skin. And now she wanted to cook? Something was definitely up. Noah quickly chimed in, "Ma'am, you really should just take it easy. We've got a chef at the villa, no need for you to wear yourself out." Edith added cautiously, "Exactly, ma'am. Just let me know what you'd like, and I'll have the kitchen staff prepare it right away." The two of them tried hard to steer her away, while Curtis just stayed quiet, his face unreadable. But Delia had expected that kind of reaction. She didn't waver, meeting Curtis' eyes directly. "I've been learning a few recipes on my own. I want to cook something special for you." Curtis blinked, his gaze lingering on her for several long seconds. Even though his mind was swarming with doubt, there was something about her words that stirred something in him. A tiny flicker of warmth in a place that had been cold for too long. "If it's made by you, I'll eat anything," he finally said, voice as calm as ever. No emotion really showed, but there was this subtle note of indulgence hiding in his words. "Boss..." Noah looked like he wanted to say more, clearly freaking out. "You seriously think she knows how to cook?" She'd never done it before-what kind of miracle were they expecting? But Curtis gently raised a hand to cut him off. "Let her." Delia's face lit up with a goofy grin. She looked like she'd won the lottery. "Just wait, you guys!" she beamed, already making a dash toward the kitchen-only to double back after a few steps. Turning back to Edith, she asked seriously, "Edith, does Curtis have any food restrictions?" Once again, Noah and Edith were caught off guard. Did the sun rise from the west today? Did she actually just ask about Curtis' preferences? Edith hesitated for a second, then answered truthfully. "Mr. Stockton prefers dishes that are sweet and spicy, but he shouldn't eat too much of them." Delia made a mental note, nodded, then went straight into the kitchen, tying on an apron and diving in. She was clearly out of practice-movements awkward, fumbling with utensils like she was defusing a bomb. But the focus on her face? That wasn't fake. Edith stood by the kitchen door for a while, quietly stunned. Honestly? She didn't look half bad in there. ***** By dinner, Delia proudly carried out a few homemade dishes and set them on the table. Curtis looked at the plates, obviously seeing the effort she had poured into each one. A strange, unfamiliar warmth crept into his chest. He took up his fork, picked up a bite, and really tasted it. Not bad. Actually... better than expected. The whole table was quiet. Curtis set his fork down slowly. Then he looked her straight in the eye. "When did you learn to cook?" Delia felt her heart lurch. She knew her sudden change would definitely raise some eyebrows. "Well, I married you, didn't I? I can't stay clueless forever. And..." She paused, her cheeks flushing just the right amount. Her voice softened, almost shy. "I just figured... maybe I could do something for you once in a while." Curtis stared at her for a beat but didn't question it further. Edith, watching from the side, let a bit of wariness slide off his expression. At least today, Mrs. Stockton seemed to be heading in a better direction. As long as Mr. Stockton was pleased, that was what mattered. Noah, though, stayed tense, picking at his food without tasting it. He kept glancing at Delia, more than a little suspicious. Did she seriously have a change of heart? Well, if that's true, maybe it's a good thing. At least Mr. Stockton might stop looking so hurt all the time. Dinner rolled on under an odd but not unpleasant haze. Curtis ate quietly, but his calm face didn't match the thoughts spinning in his head. He could feel her excited gaze, like a puppy waiting for praise, tugging at his heart. He pushed all that aside and kept his tone even. Taking a napkin to his lips, he said simply, "Tastes good." Delia lit up like a switch had been flipped. Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned in, full of energy. "Really? I'm so glad you liked it!" She leaned in closer, eager. "Tell me what else you like to eat-I'll learn how to make everything you love!" Curtis' fingers tightened slightly around his fork. He didn't answer right away, pausing like he was weighing something big. Then he looked up, voice lower than before, and listed two dishes-bold flavors with a bit of spice. He watched her face carefully, anxiety creeping in despite himself. He'd only mentioned them once before, offhand, and she'd responded with an eye-roll: "You think I'd actually remember that?" Curtis shut his eyes briefly. He was bracing for disappointment again. But her reaction caught him completely off guard. She blinked at him, surprised, then a big grin took over. "Seriously? You like those kinds of dishes? But..." Curtis' stomach tensed. Her tone dipped, softer now. "The chefs here always make everything so bland. I thought you didn't like strong flavors." As she spoke, her eyes drifted off. She looked like she was remembering something. In her past life, she hardly ever came home for meals. It was all parties with Isabelle or chasing after Nathan. She had no clue what Curtis liked to eat, or how his days went. When she did show up, meals were always made to suit her own taste. Guilt and regret rushed in hard and fast. Seeing her eyes dim, Curtis felt a jolt in his chest, like he'd just been hit. His voice came out before he even thought about it. "You... didn't like the food before?" That snapped Delia out of her thoughts. She looked up, right into Curtis' eyes, deep and searching. This man, after all that, still remembered what she liked-but she'd never once tried to understand him. The remorse hit her like a wave. "No." She fought back tears, forcing a shaky smile. "I'm just... really thankful. Thank you... honey." "You always remembered what I liked, but I never cared enough to ask about you." Curtis froze, seeing her eyes getting red. He'd never seen her look so fragile. Awkward, unsure, he softened his voice, trying to comfort her. "That's what I should've done... Don't cry."