Chapter 7: The Flavor Of Care

Sherry was filled with joy as she admired the results of her efforts after two long hours of bustling around in the kitchen. What should have been a relatively quick process had stretched far longer because the modern kitchen, with its sleek and unfamiliar appliances, had left her feeling out of her depth. Despite the challenges, she felt a wave of relief knowing that none of the dishes had been ruined.

The first to sample her hard work was Mary, the housekeeper, who had always been a source of quiet encouragement. Sherry presented her with a fruit tart fresh out of the oven. Though it lacked elaborate decoration and appeared simple, the tart’s flavor spoke for itself. The crust was a delightful combination of crispy and sweet, enriched by the subtle taste of eggs. The filling, made from tropical fruits like guava, red-fleshed dragon fruit, and papaya, was refreshingly light without being overly sweet. Mary’s face lit up with genuine delight as she took bite after bite, showering Sherry with praise.

"You’ve got talent, my dear." she said warmly, comparing the young woman's work to that of seasoned pastry chefs. Sherry beamed, her earlier anxiety melting away.

Bolstered by Mary’s compliments, Sherry moved on to decorating the remaining tarts. Her excitement, however, quickly led to a humorous misstep. Falling back into old habits from her previous job, she impulsively styled the tarts with whimsical, childish designs—each one adorned with a smiling white bear face drawn with decorative cream. Realizing her mistake, Sherry paused, staring at the tarts in disbelief. Surely this wasn’t the elegant presentation she’d envisioned for tonight. Panicked, she turned to Mary, silently pleading for guidance. But Mary, ever composed, simply smiled her usual kind and motherly smile, offering no rescue.

"Well, it should be fine, right?" Sherry muttered to herself, patting her chest in an attempt to calm the growing nerves. She knew Rye wasn’t the type of man to care about such small details. He wasn’t like the impossibly polished billionaires from the web dramas she’d been obsessed with at 17. Those men would have criticized the smallest flaw, but Rye wasn’t like that. At least, she hoped not.

DING DONG

The sharp sound of the doorbell startled Sherry so much she jumped in place, her heart pounding. Mary, watching from the side, chuckled softly to herself, the scene reminding her of the animated cat T her young nephew loved to watch—a cat that always sprang to the ceiling whenever it was startled.

Sherry quickly moved to the large mirror in the hallway to check her appearance. Her golden hair, freshly washed and flowing smoothly down her back, shimmered in the soft light. Tonight, she had taken a bold step, opting for a pastel pink dress that accentuated her soft features. The dress felt delicate yet cheerful, a reflection of her mood and aspirations for the evening. But now, standing there with flushed cheeks and a racing heart, she began second-guessing her choice. Her face was as red as a ripe tomato, and she couldn’t fathom why she had gone to such lengths to dress up. Was it nerves? Anticipation? Or perhaps... something more?

Taking a deep breath, Sherry adjusted the hem of her dress and prepared to face the moment ahead. Whatever lay behind that door, she was determined to meet it with grace—or at least try to. Sherry took a deep breath, placing a hand over her chest in an effort to calm her racing heart. She had to gather herself before opening the door. The soft yet persistent chime of the doorbell echoed through the hallway once more, as though urging her to move faster. She knew very well who was standing outside and why her heart was pounding in her chest. The thought of facing him made her both excited and anxious. After smoothing out her dress one final time, she squared her shoulders and stepped toward the grand entrance.

When the door swung open, she was greeted by the sight of Rye. He stood tall, dressed in a simple yet impeccably tailored suit. Though his attire wasn’t overly formal, it carried an understated elegance that seemed to complement his composed demeanor. For a moment, his gaze flickered over Sherry, lingering just briefly on her soft pink dress. There was something in his expression—a flicker of surprise, perhaps? But whatever it was, he masked it almost instantly, returning to his usual calm and collected self.

"Good evening, Miss Willows." Rye greeted her, his deep voice resonating warmly. His dark eyes held a subtle, unreadable gleam, as though they were observing more than they let on.

Sherry felt her breath catch for a second, her carefully rehearsed response slipping her mind. "Good evening, Mr. Mavis." she finally managed, her voice a little unsteady. She gave a quick nod and stepped aside, motioning for him to enter. "Please, come in."

Rye stepped into the hallway, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor. Sherry led him toward the dining room, her heart still beating erratically as she walked a step ahead of him. She could feel his presence behind her, steady and calm, a stark contrast to her own nervous energy.

When they arrived at the dining room, Rye paused, his gaze sweeping over the neatly arranged table. The aroma of the curry lingered in the air, warm and inviting, while the fruit tarts sat on a decorative plate in the center of the table. Their playful appearance stood out, each tart adorned with a smiling white bear face made of cream.

Sherry watched nervously as Rye’s eyes settled on the tarts. His brow arched ever so slightly, a subtle reaction that was enough to send a wave of embarrassment washing over her. She instinctively clasped her hands together, her cheeks flushing as she imagined what he must be thinking.

"These are... fruit tarts!" she began, her voice shaky as she tried to explain. "I made them myself." She hesitated, glancing at the whimsical designs. "But the decorations... well, they’re a bit... childish."

She let out a small, awkward laugh, hoping to brush off the situation. Her heart sank as she realized how unprofessional the tarts must look to someone as polished as Rye. This wasn’t the impression she had hoped to make. For a moment, Rye said nothing, his expression giving little away. Sherry stood frozen beside him, silently willing him to overlook her mishap. She glanced at the tarts again, silently cursing her impulsive decision to add the bear faces. It had seemed like a fun idea at the time, but now it only added to her growing self-doubt.

He picked up one of the tarts, holding it delicately between his fingers as he examined it with an unreadable expression. Sherry held her breath, watching nervously as his gaze lingered on the whimsical bear design she had impulsively added. Finally, he took a small bite. The moment stretched as he seemed to savor it, his features softening slightly. Then his expression shifted, moving from initial curiosity to clear satisfaction. He nodded subtly, and the faintest smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“This is delicious!” Rye said, his voice steady but noticeably warmer than his usual reserved tone. “And the bear design… it’s quite amusing. You might not know this, but I used to like things like this a lot when I was a child.”

Sherry’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t expected that at all. To her, Rye always appeared composed, serious, and far removed from anything as playful as a cartoonish bear. Yet, here he was, revealing a small but endearing detail about himself that made him seem unexpectedly approachable.

“Really?” Sherry asked, her lips curving into a relieved smile. The tension in her chest began to ease. “I was worried you’d think they were too childish.”

Rye placed the tart back down gently on the plate, turning his attention fully to her. His dark eyes held hers, steady and calm, but there was a softness in them that she hadn’t noticed before.

“You don’t need to worry so much.” he said, his tone reassuring. “I don’t place much importance on trivial things like that.”

His words sent a wave of relief through her, and she felt herself relaxing even more. The atmosphere, which had felt formal and slightly tense when he first arrived, was now growing lighter, more natural.

Encouraged by his response, Sherry began to open up. She recounted her struggles in the kitchen earlier that evening, describing how the modern appliances had initially left her bewildered. She explained her careful choice of tropical fruits—guava, red dragon fruit, and papaya—to create a refreshing yet not overly sweet flavor for the tarts.

As she spoke, her cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she couldn’t help but glance at Rye from time to time. Her vivid blue eyes would flick toward him, meeting his gaze briefly before she quickly looked away, embarrassed by the intensity of his focus. Yet, his attention remained unwavering. He listened intently, occasionally nodding or asking a thoughtful question that made it clear he was fully engaged in the conversation.

Rye’s presence was steady and calm, a stark contrast to the nervous energy that had consumed her earlier. His occasional nods and quiet interjections encouraged her to continue, and soon, she found herself speaking more freely. She even laughed softly as she shared how one of her mishaps in the kitchen almost led to disaster—a small detail that made Rye’s lips quirk upward again in amusement.

“You’ve done an excellent job.” Rye said finally, as they finished the meal. His tone was calm but carried a weight of sincerity. “Not everyone can create something this delicious and unique on their own. It takes effort and thoughtfulness, and it shows.”

Sherry’s cheeks flushed an even deeper red at his words. She fidgeted slightly, her fingers playing with the edge of the tablecloth. “Thank you!” she said, her voice soft. “But… I think it’s just luck. I’m not sure I could replicate it if I tried.”

“Miss Willows!” Rye interrupted, his tone shifting to one of gentle firmness, “you don’t need to be so modest. What you’ve done deserves recognition. I appreciate the effort you’ve put in—not just tonight, but in everything you do. You give it your all, and that’s something that shouldn’t go unnoticed.”

Sherry felt her heart skip a beat at his words. The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. His words touched something deep within her, and she realized that the distance she once felt between them was quietly dissolving.

For the first time, she allowed herself to believe that Rye didn’t see her efforts as insignificant or childish. Instead, he valued them—valued her. And in that moment, Sherry couldn’t help but feel a new sense of warmth and confidence blossoming within her.