Chapter 85 An Overnight Stay
Lauren and Quentin returned to the rented house, and it was already late. Wanting to get dinner ready as soon as possible, Lauren headed straight for the kitchen as soon as they walked in. However, Quentin pulled her back with a firm hand.
"I'll do the cooking!" Lauren looked at Quentin in confusion, not understanding why he stopped her.
"Today, it's my turn." Quentin released his grip, took off his coat, and walked into the kitchen.
Lauren watched Quentin move with such ease and confidence that she was momentarily stunned.
"I just can't cook salmon, but I can handle everything else," Lauren admitted.
Although she claimed she could manage, Lauren lacked any culinary talent. Everything she cooked tasted as if it had been boiled in water—utterly flavorless.
Quentin's taste was indeed mild, but that didn't mean he had low standards for food. Today, he wanted to show off in front of Lauren and demonstrate that food could be both light and delicious.
Seeing Quentin remain silent, Lauren assumed that someone like Quentin probably had never been in a kitchen. Thinking this, she directly asked, "Mr. Robinson, have you ever cooked before?"
Quentin raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Lauren, answering truthfully, "No."
"If you've never cooked, how can you possibly know how to do it? Besides, my kitchen utensils are incomplete. You should leave it to me." Lauren said as she walked into the kitchen.
Did Lauren really underestimate him? Today, Quentin was determined to show Lauren what excellence meant. An excellent person like him naturally excelled at everything.
Without another word, Quentin pushed Lauren out of the kitchen. "You'll only get in my way here. Don't worry; I'll prepare a delicious meal."
Lauren was both amused and worried. She wasn't concerned about tonight's food; she worried Quentin might burn down her kitchen.
Considering Quentin's enthusiasm, she decided to give him some face and not dampen his spirits. So, she nervously sat on the sofa, listening intently to the sounds from the kitchen, fearing it might actually explode.
Forty minutes passed in a flash, and a tantalizing aroma wafted from the kitchen—a scent Lauren had never encountered while cooking.
"High-end dishes really are different. Even the aroma is so rich," Lauren chuckled, unwilling to admit it was due to Quentin's culinary skills.
At that moment, Quentin emerged with a dish, casting a cold glance at Lauren as if warning her not to speak ill of him.
Lauren immediately covered her mouth. Quentin's aura was too strong; she didn't want to get hurt.
After a while, the salmon was also ready. Lauren, understanding the situation, washed her hands and sat at the dining table, waiting for Quentin to serve the food.
Quentin brought out the final dish of salmon. Everything was ready.
"Mr. Robinson, you are truly impressive. For a first-time cook, this looks quite successful," Lauren admired him, trying hard to praise Quentin.
Quentin raised an eyebrow smugly, finding the compliment rather pleasing.
"However, there's so much food. We probably can't finish it all. It's so expensive; what a waste," Lauren said.
Lauren kept thinking about the cost of the dishes, the food on the plates transforming into stacks of cash in her mind—a truly spectacular scene.
"Well, eat more and finish this salmon soup," Quentin said.
Looking at the pot full of fish soup, Lauren patted her stomach and smiled. "I'll try my best."
Quentin took a bowl and naturally served Lauren some soup, his actions resembling those of a loving couple.
Lauren gazed at Quentin for a long time, recalling her mother's words, "If a man is willing to cook for a woman, it means he loves her."
"So, Quentin, do you love me?" Lauren asked in her heart, lacking the courage to say it out loud. She feared a negative answer that would prove all this was just her illusion.
Lauren smiled to herself, acknowledging that daydreaming was her ailment. She resolved not to indulge in such meaningless thoughts anymore. The most important thing now was to live well.
They began to eat, the only sounds being those of their meal. Seeing Quentin remain expressionless, Lauren felt it inappropriate to initiate a conversation.
Lauren couldn't eat anymore. Seeing more than half of the food still on the table, she felt both heartache and helplessness. She could only stare at the food, unwilling to waste it.
Quentin looked at her, seemingly able to see through her thoughts.
"Alright, if you really can't eat anymore, don't force yourself. A stomachache would be troublesome," Quentin said.
"Okay," Lauren responded obediently. She indeed couldn't eat anymore. It wasn't worth the risk.
After Quentin finished eating and left the table, Lauren diligently began to clean up. Quentin had taken her out, bought groceries, and cooked for her today, so she couldn't just do nothing.
When she finished washing the dishes and came out, Lauren saw Quentin about to leave.
"Are you going back?" Lauren asked without thinking.
Quentin turned to Lauren. "Are you planning to burn bridges after getting your fill?"
Lauren quickly waved her hands. No, she wouldn't dare, especially if it was with Quentin.
"I don't mean that; I just..." Lauren struggled to explain but couldn't form a complete sentence.
Quentin looked at Lauren with a smile, then turned and walked out the door. To Lauren, that smile seemed anything but simple, carrying a hint of malice. She couldn't help but shiver. The cold feeling was quite frightening.
Lauren didn't know where Quentin had gone, thinking he had really left, so she prepared to wash up and go to bed.
When the door opened again, Quentin returned with a bag.
"What is this?" Lauren didn't understand.
"I always have a change of clothes in my car," Quentin said calmly, placing the bag on the sofa.
"I meant, why do you bring the bag in?" Lauren felt distressed. She already understood Quentin's intention but still wanted to make a last-ditch effort. Her room really couldn't accommodate Quentin!
Quentin raised an eyebrow. "I entertained you, cooked for you, and now I'm exhausted. I don't have the energy to go elsewhere."
Lauren felt Quentin's words were too cold, but she couldn't argue against them.
Was Quentin being unreasonable? He had insisted on cooking, not her.
"Mr. Robinson, it's not that I don't want to let you stay. As you see, my room is very small. There's really no space! How about I treat you to a nearby hotel for the night?" Lauren suggested cautiously.
Lauren tried to use a calm tone, hoping Quentin would take her suggestion and leave her house. The thought of Quentin staying in the same room with her made her skin crawl.
