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Episode 7: The Taste of Victory
Then he reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face, and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to my cheek. I immediately felt my cheeks flare with warmth. My heart leaped and my stomach fluttered as if I had been spun around in a dizzying whirlwind.
"Stop it, Charles," I murmured, still blushing uncontrollably.
"Why should I stop? Are you scared I'm going to beat you in this cooking challenge?" he teased, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
"Why would I be scared when I'm so sure of myself?" I said proudly, lifting my chin, trying to meet his playful challenge head-on.
"Okay, then," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Let's head to the dining table and do justice to this meal."
We moved together toward the table, both of us carrying our chafing dishes with care, balancing them as if this were a high-stakes presentation rather than a friendly cooking competition. My pulse raced, partly from the anticipation of tasting each other's food, partly from being this close to him.
I grabbed a soup mug and carefully scooped Charles' vegetable stew onto my plate, arranging it neatly. Then, in return, I served him from my own pot, making sure everything looked just right.
"At your service, sir," I said, smiling, noticing how eagerly he was watching me, waiting to see my reaction.
"Okay, ma'am," he replied with a charming grin.
We both washed our hands quickly, the mundane act amplified by the charged energy between us, and then we bowed our heads to pray, giving thanks for the meal and the moment.
The first bite I took was like a revelation. I had not expected to taste something so rich, flavorful, and perfectly balanced from Charles' hands. I closed my eyes for a brief second, savoring the aroma, the textures, the harmony of flavors.
"Hmm… yummy," he murmured, licking his fingers with a satisfied grin. "You're good, but not as good as Charles, the great chef," he teased, and I couldn't help but smile at his self-confidence.
"Yours is also delicious," I said, genuinely impressed. "I have to admit, you're a really great cook."
"This food is just too good," I continued in my mind, marveling at the blend of spices, the tenderness of the meat, and the rich, velvety sauce. "I thought you were one of those guys who couldn't even boil water without burning it."
He chuckled, clearly amused by my inner thoughts and words. "Enough of the praises, ma'am. Let me finish devouring this and then enjoy my food too. I know you're just teasing me."
I smirked, teasing back. "It's just that there's no official judge here to rate the meal. I'm sure I'll get a perfect score," I said proudly, taking another careful bite.
"You said your sister wants to judge us, didn't you?" he asked, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "I would have told you to call her over, but don't worry."
"Why would I?" I said lightly. "She's not home at the moment and instructed me to bring the food back to her later. I'll take it to her myself."
"All right, no problem," he replied. "But make sure you don't sabotage the results. Don't worry — I'll drop you off and be there when she's tasting it."
"Don't stress yourself," I said, rolling my eyes playfully. "It's just three houses away."
"Let me stress myself," he said with a grin, closing the distance between us. "I'm following you home, so we can finish eating this meal properly."
We ate together, sharing bites, stealing tastes from each other's plates, laughing at the little mishaps and moments of playful criticism. Every bite, every glance, every small interaction made the moment feel electric. Thirty minutes later, we were done, and I helped him pack the dishes back into the kitchen while he cleaned the countertops. He insisted on helping me, and the simple act of teamwork made my chest swell with warmth.
"So, what are your plans for tomorrow? Where are you going?" he asked, flopping onto the sofa beside me as I stacked the last of the dishes.
"Well, I'm not going anywhere — just staying home. You?" I asked, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"Nowhere either. You can come over if you don't mind," he said, inching a little closer.
"Sure, no problem," I replied. As he moved closer, a shiver ran through me, goosebumps rising along my arms. There was something about being this close to him that sent my heart racing uncontrollably.
God, he's so handsome, I thought, my mind buzzing. I couldn't wait to kiss those lips. Every feature of him seemed perfect — the confident set of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes, the gentle smile that made me weak at the knees. I was lost in my thoughts, completely consumed by him.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his smile teasing but soft, aware of the way I had gone silent.
"God… the way you smile… it's just… so cute," I blurted out before I could stop myself. Then, without warning, my lips almost shouted it for me: "KISS ME!"
"You mean… I should kiss you?" he asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Yes," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "I want you to kiss me. Or is that too much to ask?"
"No… it's not too much," he said slowly, his tone measured, thoughtful. "I'm just thinking… this is your first time here, and I don't want it to feel like I'm taking advantage of you."
"But I'm asking you to kiss me," I said, my voice firm now, heart pounding against my ribcage. "So I don't see anything wrong with that."
There was a brief pause, just enough for the tension to build between us, before I leaned in, pressing my lips against his in a kiss that was bold and hungry. The first contact surprised him, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features before he responded, his arms wrapping around me naturally, returning the kiss with equal intensity.
I felt my whole body relax into him, the world outside fading away until there was only the warmth of his touch, the taste of him, and the undeniable connection between us. Every second stretched, every heartbeat syncing with his, as I kissed him with the kind of hunger that had been building all week. He pulled me slightly closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and I responded instinctively, pressing back, savoring the way his lips moved against mine.
Time seemed suspended, the kitchen around us now just a backdrop to the storm of feelings between us. I could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant chirp of the oven timer, but it was drowned out by the rapid beating of my heart. My hands rested on his shoulders, fingers tracing the fabric of his apron, feeling the warmth and firmness beneath. His hands cupped my face, and I leaned into his touch, letting myself melt into him.
When we finally broke apart, gasping slightly, I rested my forehead against his, a small laugh escaping me. The warmth and electricity of the kiss lingered, making my chest tight with excitement and longing. He smiled at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his lips still slightly parted from our kiss.
"You didn't hold back," he said softly, a teasing undertone hiding beneath the gentle warmth of his voice.
"I told you," I whispered back, my lips brushing his once more, "I don't hold back."
His grin widened, his hands still lingering against my face, thumbs tracing the curve of my cheeks. "Good. Neither do I."
The kitchen seemed smaller now, cozy and intimate, a perfect stage for our shared moment. The meal, the cooking, the playful teasing — it all faded into the background, leaving just the two of us, hearts racing, caught in the gravity of a first kiss that was everything we hadn't said but had both been thinking.
And in that moment, I knew — nothing else mattered. Not the competition, not the meal, not even the dishes we had so carefully prepared. All that mattered was this, the electricity, the warmth, the connection that had finally turned into something undeniable and real.
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