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last update Last Updated: 2022-08-23 17:29:19

Gabriella

I’m dancing all the way down the kitchen when I heard a whistle coming from the door. Flabbergasted is such an underestimate when I saw Giovanni holding a knife. His wet hair is dripping out of his sweats when I walked in his direction and see what he is doing.

My husband is only wearing a white apron. But, even such a clean fabric cannot hide his ripped body.

“You’re cooking?” I whispered, my eyes widening. “You’re cooking?!”

Giovanni was quick to throw everything in the trash. All of the burnt dishes I saw earlier are toast out of the bin except the last batch which I quickly grasp out of his touch.

There is no correct expression to see him picture-perfect for a chef and realize he is actually bad at making dishes. This one dish in my hand only proves how bad he can be because it looks like it could send me to the hospital for the rest of my life. Too burned to eat but too much effort to waste.

“ Give that to me,” he tried to reach for the food. “ We’re eating outside.”

I
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