Wendy blinked. “Then… let me treat you to dinner?”
“No need for that.” He shook his head. “Just make me instant noodles.”
“I’ll go buy some now.” She stood quickly.
“Wait!” Jason grabbed her armn–then pulled out a packet of instant noodles from his bag.
Wendy stared at the noodles, then at the wrecked shop, torn between exasperation and amusement.
Finally, she sighed and took the packet. “Fine, I’ll make them now.”
Steam rose from the pot as Wendy worked at the stove.
“Can you add an egg?” Jason leaned against the doorway.
“I’ll add two.”
When the noodles were ready, she brought the bowl to Jason with a smile.
But instead of eating, he just stared at it, chopsticks hovering.
Finally, he took a bite.
Whether it was too spicy or too hot, tears suddenly splashed into the broth, startling Wendy. “What’s wrong? Does it taste bad?”
Jason shook his head, but when he met her eyes, there was something unreadable in his gaze.
“Ever since I can remember, my dad’s been on the rich list. When I was ten, I was kidnapped back in Vostoklia. I barely escaped–cold, starving, wandering the streets like a beggar in the pouring rain. Everyone avoided me, looked down on me… Just when I thought I’d starve to death, the door of a little flower shop opened…”
His eyes never left hers.
“A girl around my age waved me inside. She couldn’t cook, so she made me instant noodles with an egg. It was the best thing I’d ever eaten.”
Wendy listened quietly, her own eyes stinging.
It was a memory worth cherishing.
“What happened after?” she asked.
“My parents immigrated to Lumière because of the incident. I never got to thank her before we lost touch.”
What a shame.
Wendy sighed, then asked curiously, “But if you found her, how would you thank her? Not with another bowl of noodles, I hope.” She laughed at her own joke.
But Jason set down his forks, his expression deadly serious.
“I’d marry her.”
His burning gaze pinned her in place, sending a shiver down her spine.
What a strange man.
“Eat up, then go home. I’m closing soon.” Flustered, Wendy busied herself cleaning the kitchen, avoiding his eyes.
Jason said nothing else, finishing every last bite of the noodles.
But he didn’t leave. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves–ignoring his injury–and helped her clean up the wrecked shop. Watching his silent, diligent profile, Wendy thought that despite his oddness, he was a good man.
Before leaving, he left money for yesterday’s flowers on the table and bought another bouquet of forget–me–nots.
But he said, “I only brought enough for yesterday’s flowers. I’ll pay for today’s tomorrow.”
The next day, he returned as promised and bought another bouquet.
Again, he paid for yesterday’s and left today’s for tomorrow.
