Page 168

I step back, studying the plates. They’re good. Really good. But Elijah’s standards have always been impossibly high.
I sneak a peek at him, and not that I’ve guessed otherwise, he’s watching me like a hawk.
Here we go.
“First course.” The plates wobble slightly as I carry them over to the table. “Sicilian arancini with wild mushroom risotto filling.”
Naomi’s eyes light up at the presentation, and something in my chest loosens. Gemma lets out a soft ‘oh’ of appreciation. Elijah says nothing, picks up his fork, and dissects his portion.
I hover, watching as they take their first bites.
“Oh my god.” Gemma covers her mouth with her hand, nodding enthusiastically. “Brandon, this is incredible.”
“Thank you.” I incline my head, taking my seat.
My brother is still chewing with maddening deliberation while my whole body coils tight, every muscle bracing for the inevitable verdict that might make or break me. I resist rambling about techniques or cracking jokes to fill the silence.
Instead, I focus on Naomi beside me, who savors a tiny bite, eyes closed in pleasure. After her last purge, she’s been more hesitant again, but these small victories mean everything. And knowing my food helps is the best talent I could have wished for. Even if the restaurant crashes and burns, I’ll keep cooking for her.
“It’s delicious,” Elijah finally says. “Crisp exterior and creamy inside. You made the risotto from scratch?”
“Yesterday.” I keep my voice steady. “Let it rest overnight to develop the flavors.”
He nods, continuing to eat and not leaving a single crumb on his plate.
Gemma scrapes her plate clean, dragging the last bite through the vibrant sauce. “It’s really good. You should take some lessons from your brother, Elijah.”
He shoots her a look. “And you said you love the breakfast I make.”
“Who doesn’t love breakfast in bed? Even if it’s just coffee and toast,” Gemma teases, her eyes sparkling. “Remember that time you tried to make pancakes?”
His stern facade cracks, just barely. “The smoke alarm was oversensitive.”
I bite back a grin, collecting the empty plates. “Main course coming up.”
“Need help?” Naomi asks quietly.
“Worried I’ll mess it up, cupcake?”
“Worried you’ll take too long perfecting each plate.”
Her words echo through my mind.Your food doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be yours. That’s what makes it perfect.
I couldn’t have done this without my lovely cupcake. But this I need to do alone.
“Stay,” I say.
She nods, turning to Gemma. “How’s the new collection coming along?”
One down, two to go.
In the kitchen, I lose myself in the plating. Each chop positioned precisely, sauce drizzled in elegant arcs, vegetables arranged in a colorful mosaic.
When I set down the plates, conversation dies. Even Elijah’s perpetual scowl softens.
“This looks…” he starts.
“Herb-crusted rack of lamb with roasted vegetables and a red wine reduction.” I take my place. “Mom’s recipe. With tweaks.”