Chapter 165: You Cooked Too Well
Cecelia’s apartment wasn’t large, barely sixty or seventy square meters, a cozy two-bedroom that felt far more spacious than its size suggested.
The moment Luca stepped inside, he noticed how immaculate everything was. The furniture was arranged neatly, the windowsills were lined with healthy green plants, and a faint floral scent lingered in the air. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was warm, peaceful, and unmistakably lived in.
"Wait here for a second. I’ll get you some slippers."
After slipping off her heels in the entryway, Cecelia hurried into the bathroom and returned with another pair.
She placed them beside his feet with a small smile.
Luca looked down, then back at her.
"...These are yours, aren’t they?"
The sandals were pink and clearly a size too small.
A hint of embarrassment crossed her face.
"I... I don’t usually have guests."
Suppressing a laugh, he slipped them on anyway. They were tight enough to make walking slightly awkward, but still wearable.
By the time he finished changing, she’d already switched on the television.
"You can relax for a bit," she said, smoothing the apron around her waist. "I’ll start cooking."
Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Only after tying the apron did she finally pause.
’What am I doing...?’
She leaned against the counter for a moment, her fingers tightening around the fabric.
Before today, she had never imagined bringing Luca home.
Not because she disliked him.
Quite the opposite.
That was exactly why it felt so dangerous.
If she accepted him, she knew what that meant.
She wouldn’t become his wife.
She would become one of the women in his life.
Strangely enough...
She didn’t hate that thought.
Years ago, she would never have accepted something like this.
Back then, she believed in marriage, in growing old with one person, in building a family together.
When she’d married her late husband, she’d imagined a quiet, happy life where they supported each other through everything.
At first, things had been exactly like that.
Then the rumors started.
People whispered that she was too beautiful, too friendly with male colleagues, too capable.
Little by little, trust turned into suspicion.
Arguments became routine.
Every conversation ended in accusations.
By the time she’d finally made up her mind to ask for a divorce, fate had made the decision for her.
Her husband died in a car accident.
Only afterward did she discover he hadn’t been on a business trip at all.
He’d been traveling with another woman.
As if that weren’t enough, his parents blamed her for his death.
They called her unlucky.
A curse.
Instead of fighting them, she’d sold the marital home, divided the assets fairly, gave half to her mother-in-law, and walked away.
This little apartment had become her new beginning.
The mortgage wasn’t overwhelming with her salary.
She lived comfortably.
But comfort wasn’t the same as companionship.
There were nights when the silence felt unbearable.
Nights when she wished someone would simply sit beside her and ask how her day had gone.
Maybe...
Maybe being with Luca wouldn’t be so bad.
She didn’t expect marriage anymore.
She didn’t even dare dream about forever.
If he could spare a little time for her now and then...
If there were someone waiting for her at the end of difficult days...
Perhaps that was enough.
As she chopped vegetables, another thought surfaced.
When he’d confessed earlier...
’I like you.’
Her heart had nearly leapt out of her chest.
That fluttering feeling...
She hadn’t experienced it in years.
"Careful."
His voice suddenly pulled her back to reality.
"You’ll cut yourself."
She blinked.
Only then did she realize she’d been staring blankly out the kitchen window while the knife hovered over the cutting board.
Before she could react, Luca gently took the knife from her hand.
"Move aside."
"I can..."
"I know."
"But you’re thinking instead of cooking."
There was no room for argument.
He rolled up his sleeves and began working.
The rhythm of the knife echoed through the kitchen.
Slice.
Slice.
Slice.
Cecelia stood beside him, completely stunned.
"You... can cook?"
She genuinely hadn’t expected this.
A man his age rarely knew his way around a kitchen.
Someone with his wealth should have chefs preparing every meal.
Yet his movements were smooth and confident, as though he’d spent years doing this.
Ingredients were prepared with astonishing speed.
The vegetables were cut into uniform pieces.
Seasonings were added without hesitation.
The wok hissed as flames danced beneath it.
Everything flowed naturally, with the practiced ease of someone who truly enjoyed cooking.
She found herself watching him more than the food.
Less than half an hour later, two dishes and a bowl of soup were arranged neatly on the dining table.
The aroma filled the apartment.
"It smells incredible..."
Unable to resist, she picked up a piece of stir-fried shredded potato with her chopsticks.
The moment it touched her tongue, her eyes widened.
It was even better than it looked.
"Luca..."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"You’re amazing."
There wasn’t a trace of exaggeration in her voice.
She meant every word.
"You like it?"
She nodded enthusiastically.
"I do."
"Then I’ll cook it for you again."
A smile spread across her face almost instinctively.
"Deal."
The meal passed in a comfortable silence.
Occasionally they exchanged a few words, but neither felt the need to force conversation.
For the first time in years, the apartment no longer felt empty.
After dinner, Cecelia leaned back on the sofa with a contented sigh.
"I’m so full..."
"Want to take a walk?" Luca suggested. "It’ll help digest the food."
She looked at him and laughed.
"It’s your fault."
"My fault?"
"You cooked too well."
Her tone sounded more like playful complaining than actual criticism.
"Fine," he replied. "Next time I’ll make it taste worse."
"Don’t you dare."
She stood up immediately.
"I was joking."
The two changed their shoes and stepped into the hallway.
Just as the elevator doors opened, they ran into a stylish middle-aged woman carrying grocery bags.
The woman recognized Cecelia immediately.
"Oh my."
Her eyes shifted to Luca before a knowing smile spread across her face.
"Little Cece..."
She lowered her voice conspiratorially.
"Is this your boyfriend?"
Cecelia froze.
This was Hannah, one of her neighbors.
She loved playing matchmaker and had introduced countless single men to her over the years.
Each time, Cecelia had politely declined.
Now...
Without thinking, she reached over and wrapped her hand around Luca’s arm.
"Yes."
She smiled.
"He is."
"Haha! I knew it!"
Hannah clapped happily.
"I kept wondering why none of the men I introduced could catch your eye."
She looked Luca up and down approvingly.
"So you’ve been waiting for someone this handsome."
She laughed so loudly that even another resident waiting nearby smiled.
"I guess all those bachelors asking about you are going to have broken hearts."
Cecelia chuckled awkwardly.
"Hannah..."
"I’m almost thirty."
"And I’m a widow."
"What man would willingly choose me?"
As she said it, she stole a quick glance at Luca.
His expression didn’t change.
Not even slightly.
She quietly let out a breath she’d been holding.
Hannah, however, shook her head firmly.
"Nonsense."
"You’re beautiful, hardworking, and honest."
"Any man with eyes would be lucky."
She smiled warmly at Luca.
"You’d better treat her well."
"I intend to," he answered naturally.
The simple reply caught Cecelia completely off guard.
Heat crept into her cheeks.
Fortunately, Hannah didn’t notice.
"Alright, I won’t interrupt your date."
She waved cheerfully as the elevator reached the lobby.
"I’m off to dance at the square."
Watching the older woman leave, Luca smiled.
"Shall we?"
"Mhm."
Almost immediately, Cecelia let go of his arm.
He looked down at the empty space between them.
"Why’d you let go... girlfriend?"
He deliberately emphasized the last word.
Her face instantly reddened.
"It’s..."
She searched desperately for an excuse.
"...a little warm."
"Is that so?"
He extended his hand toward her, palm facing upward.
The invitation was obvious.
She stared at it.
Her heartbeat gradually quickened.
The hallway suddenly felt unusually quiet.
After what seemed like forever, she bit her lower lip, lowered her gaze, and slowly reached out.
Her fingers slipped into his hand.
Warm.
Firm.
Before she could become self-conscious, his fingers gently closed around hers.
Neither of them spoke.
They simply walked side by side beneath the evening lights, their joined hands saying far more than words ever could.