Evelyn was no stranger to the kitchen at Tranquil Haven.

In her past life, back when she used to be around Lincoln, working overtime was a regular thing. Sometimes he’d call her over without warning, and she'd end up eating at his place more often than not.

In Evelyn’s memory, Lincoln had always been someone who valued peace and quiet. Other than the butler, Edison, and the private nurse, Diana, there were rarely any other people around Tranquil Haven on a regular day.

Whenever Diana was off or resting, Lincoln would usually cook for himself. Otherwise, if Evelyn happened to be around mooching a meal, she’d sometimes cook too—

So when Evelyn moved smoothly through the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the fridge and cupboards with ease, Diana was stunned.

She didn’t recall Evelyn being at Tranquil Haven often—let alone in the kitchen! But looking at her now, she seemed almost as familiar with the place as a hostess...

Could it be… was there really something subtly intimate going on between the Vice President and this Evelyn?

Evelyn had always been decent in the kitchen. Not quite an expert, of course—Lincoln was the real chef. That was partly why she always lingered around during mealtimes back then, never in a hurry to leave.

When she brought the food to the table, little Glen Norman’s eyes lit up at the sight of the small bowl of spaghetti. Without waiting for Evelyn to say a word, his chubby, pale hand had already grabbed the fork.

“Careful, it’s hot. And fix your napkin,” Evelyn said patiently, gently laying the napkin across his chest.

She couldn't help feeling that she had an endless well of patience for this little dumpling. Glen blinked his bright, sparkly eyes at her, grinning with soft affection. “I got it, Mommy... You eat too, okay?”

Evelyn caught that smile in full. Suddenly, she felt like she wouldn't even mind cooking a few more times like this—happily.

“You eat first, alright? Be careful, let it cool a bit.”

Still a little uneasy, she called Diana over to keep an eye on him before heading back into the kitchen to make him a fresh glass of orange juice.

But when Evelyn returned to the dining room with the juice in one hand and a glass of warm lemon water in the other...

There was now an extra person at the table.

Lincoln.

And he was currently eating the bowl of pasta that had originally been meant for her.

What the hell?

Evelyn furrowed her brows as she placed the juice by Glen’s hand. The man, who had been dining with his usual composed elegance, finally lifted his eyes to look at her. His handsome face was calm, unreadable, noble as ever.

Apparently unbothered by the darkening expression on Evelyn’s face, Lincoln casually reached out his long fingers to take the lemon water from her hand. He took a sip and, in his low, cool voice, said only two words:

“Too salty.”

Evelyn stared at her now-empty hand, her lovely face frozen in disbelief. She nearly lost it on the spot—

What the actual hell?

That was hers!

The lemon water wasn’t even meant for him—and now he had the audacity to complain about the taste?

Evelyn wanted to be mad. She *really* did.

But she held it in.

If this had been back then—

She would’ve already kicked the table, snatched the chopsticks from his hand, and taken the damn pasta back for herself!

If not for the debt of gratitude from her past life, Evelyn would never have tolerated him to this extent.

Forget it, she told herself. They were supposed to be good friends.

Evelyn tried to comfort herself with that thought as she quietly took a seat.

But little Glen Norman—this Glen—looked up at Evelyn, his bright eyes sparkling faintly like stars. He glanced down at the bowl of pasta in front of him, visibly reluctant, then gently pushed it toward Evelyn.

“Mommy... you can have mine... I’m full…”

That earnest little face nearly melted Evelyn’s heart into a puddle. She quickly reached out to slide the bowl back toward him, smiling softly. “It’s okay. You eat. Auntie likes the side dishes.”

She pointed to the delicate dishes on the table as she spoke.

“It’s Mommy… Then you eat more, okay?”  

Glen insisted on correcting her again, his tiny hands pushing two small plates of food over to her side.

Ugh…

Evelyn felt utterly defeated by this Glen. She had never felt so helpless—not until she noticed the man across from her watching with that deep, unreadable gaze.

“Is it good?” she asked quickly, pulling her eyes away, turning instead to Glen, who was busy slurping noodles in that same elegant way—just like his uncle. No, wait—his father.

Glen looked up again, his rosy lips smeared with sauce, eyes crinkling into a bright, crescent-eyed smile. “It’s delicious… Everything Mommy cooks is yummy!”

Then he ducked his head back down to focus on his noodles. Just as he picked up another bite, he suddenly paused, looked up again, and flashed her another adorable grin—

“Mommy… I love everything you make.”

Evelyn: “Uh…”

Was Glen leveling up his ‘flirting with Mom’ skills?

Still, he was way too cute. She seriously wanted to kiss him—but Lincoln was here. She didn’t dare.

“Watch that wound on your back. These dishes aren’t ideal for you.”

A long silence followed. Finally, the man across the table put down his utensils. The entire bowl of pasta was now inside him. He grabbed a napkin, wiped his mouth with casual elegance, then took a few sips of lemon water before speaking in that low, slightly hoarse voice of his.

Was that… an explanation?

God!

He actually explained himself.

In Evelyn’s memory, this proud and aloof man almost never bothered explaining trivial things. Could it be... was it because of her attitude?

That thought made Evelyn pause for some serious self-reflection—

It seemed she hadn’t been quite as temperamental as she used to be in her previous life. Not with him, at least.

After a long silence, Evelyn finally lowered her head and began to eat. Across from her, Glen occasionally looked up at her, then at Lincoln, his eyes glittering like tiny stars.

After lunch, Evelyn took little Glen Norman out for a stroll in the back garden. When he started to look drowsy, she brought him back to rest.

Once Glen had fallen asleep, Evelyn quietly left the room.

Downstairs, just beside the living room, Lincoln stood at a writing desk in the side study. A spread of documents lay open before him. One hand held a pen; the other was clutching a phone as he spoke into it.

It had to be about the disaster zone.

Evelyn didn’t disturb him. She quietly brewed him a medicinal coffee and brought it over. Only when she approached did he hang up the phone and slowly close the documents in front of him.

“How’s the situation?”

She handed him the cup and finally broke the silence.

“Rescue operations are fully underway. The local government’s evacuation efforts have been fairly efficient. Things aren’t as bad as we initially feared. There’ve been back-to-back emergency meetings with the municipal bureau these days... Glen’s been a handful. I hope you don’t mind too much.”

Lincoln took the coffee from her, took a light sip, and spoke calmly.

He’d just finished a meeting with the government and had called Diana on the way out—so of course, he already knew what had been going on at home.