Page 166 of The Dragon 2

“I am definitely paying attention, Tora.” I picked up the spoon, but before I could dive in, she reached over, laughing, and dragged my bowl away.

I almost growled. “What are you doing?”

“Sir, you have negative one hundred points. You don’t get to try any more of my food. Have a nice evening.”

“Tora,” I growled, half amused. “Give me back my bowl.”

“This is punishment for the Four Seasons Hoe Suite.”

I narrowed my eyes. “If you do not give me back my bowl, I will get my Fangs to handle you.”

She burst into laughter, holding the bowl protectively. “Go get your Fangs! I’ll give them the soup instead. They earned it.”

My smile dropped into something darker. “I already told you no one can eat your food. Don’t make me kill anyone this evening. I’m enjoying myself too much.”

Still laughing, she slid the bowl back toward me—slow and teasing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you are very naughty.” I dipped my spoon into the soup and lifted it.

The moment the lush liquid hit my tongue; I stilled.

Oh, Tora.

The bisque was warmth. Silk. It slipped into my chest. Then there was the sweet crab meat with a rich base laced with something nutty.

Sherry, maybe.

Then came the brightness, a kiss of citrus from the yuzu. The coconut cream didn’t overpower—it soothed, smoothed, made the soup feel like a silk robe pulled over bare skin.

Groaning, I took another spoonful. “Fuck, Tora. I’m going to tell Reo to get your things. We’ll need several Scales to pack them.”

“Pack my stuff and get my things from where?”

“Your friend’s apartment here and also your place in New York.”

“Please do not scare Zo with your craziness tonight. I can’t with you right now.” She didn’t know how serious I was because there was only humor in that gaze. “But. . .do you like the bisque?”

“Yes.”

“It’s good?”

“Good?” I kept eating. “No, Tora. It’s dangerous.”

Nyomi laughed, but I wasn’t joking.

She began enjoying the soup too.

After several spoonfuls, I licked the spoon and asked. “Did your grandmother teach you how to make this too?”

“Yep. One summer, my grandmother gave me a wooden spoon and a stool and told me if I was going to have a mouth like mine, I better know how to feed people too.”

I chuckled. “I will have to tell Reo to get your grandmother too. She’s going to live in Tokyo also.”

“You better leave my grandmother alone.” She laughed and then let out a long sigh. “While I was making the soup she watched and cheered me on. When I finally finished, she took a taste and said, ‘Good job, baby. Although you were born withsilver spoons, it’s always better to learn how to stir your own pot. You never know what could come.’”

I looked down at the bowl again, deeper now. It wasn’t just a dish.It was her.Every element a reflection of legacy and rebellion. Tradition and invention. That sharp mouth of hers that challenged me and that soft heart that had stirred this for me.

I took another spoonful and groaned. “I don’t usually say things like this.”