Chester’s jacket helped greatly, not only the weight or the physical blocker from the lights and people, but also the scent, and the fact that it was his. All of my skepticallities of him were washed away form his small act of kindness.  

We walked through the aisles, he turned to me and checked in, both with what to get, and if I was doing ok. Eventually we made it to the lineups that fed into the tills; it was very crowded here, I felt like I was being suffocated by all the other people. Someone behind me bumped into me, sending me staggering forward; I grabbed Chester’s hands, steadying myself. 

“Sorry.” they shrugged. 

“Uh-!” I looked to Chester, flushed. 

“You ok?” he simply smiled at me. 

“Um...” I sunk into his jacket. “...Yeah...” 

We made it out with our ingredients, walking back to the entrance. By the time we got to the bookshop it was pouring down rain. Chester cooked quietly as I lit candles around the kitchen; Mrs. Delilah had electricity but did not use it for lighting, I wasn’t even sure if the lights had any lightbulbs in them.  

“Oh~! How romantic~!” Chester cooed as I took a felt of sockeye salmon from the fridge. “Can you season it, please?” 

“Sure.” I nodded; I cut a lemon, squeezing it over the fresh fish, shaking seasoning onto it. “Oh.” I quickly pull my hand away, watching as Chester took it.  

“And can you get me a spoon?” he hummed. 

I shyly handed him the spoon; he had laid the salmon skin-side down on a searing pan, he scooped and poured butter and seasoning over the fish, basting it. I looked over his shoulder, mesmerized. The warm smells made my stomach growl; I often ate plain foods, hating either the preparation, or having to go somewhere to eat.  

While we were at the store, Chester let me pick everything, he made sure I knew what he was planning and involved me as much as possible in the preparation, but I wasn’t too fond of it. 

“Heh,” Chester chuckled. “You seem so excited.”  

“Uh-” I stepped back quickly. “...Mrs. Delilah doesn’t let me in the kitchen when she cooks.” I stated. “She-” I stopped myself. 

“Ah.” he nodded. 

“You’re rich, why do you cook?” I huffed. 

“Just because someone is rich doesn’t mean they have people to cook for them or drive them.” he scoffed. “The only people who work under me are my employees at my business.”  

“Whatever.” I walked away. “My statement still stands true.” 

“And what was that?” he hummed.