Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime
Chapter 116: Lessons by His Side

Chapter 116: Lessons by His Side

Zephany reached for the carton of eggs sitting quietly in the fridge, her fingers curling around it carefully as if she were holding something precious. A small smile tugged at her lips. This exact moment had played in her head a dozen times this week.

She remembered how Kendrick always took them out gently, cracking them with practiced ease, never making a mess. It had seemed so easy when he did it. Now, standing in the kitchen alone in the early morning light, she took a quiet breath and whispered to herself, "Okay. I can do this."

She knew he was working on something. Something important. And although her curiosity tugged at her, she didn’t press him. She respected his silence. Just like how she hoped he would respect hers. The thought made her glance toward the hallway. If he ever found out she was Eclipse... how would he react?

Zephany shook her head quickly. "Not the time for that." She took a deep breath and refocused.

The eggs clicked gently against each other as she set them on the counter. She glanced toward the hallway, half-expecting Kendrick to walk in, sleepy-eyed but alert, ready to take over. But not this time. This time, she wanted to do it on her own.

All week, she had watched Kendrick cook. Well, more like clung beside him with a notepad and a few awkward questions, some of which she immediately regretted asking, but he had been patient.

She wasn’t the best at following instructions to the letter, and more than once she mistook a teaspoon for a tablespoon, but Kendrick never raised his voice. Instead, he would laugh softly and explain again. "No worries," he would say. "Try it again. It’s all part of learning."

She had insisted on those lessons after noticing how worn out he looked. The stress on his face was impossible to miss. His eyes always carried that heavy, dark shadow lately, and he looked like someone who hadn’t known a full night’s sleep in weeks.

And yet, he still cooked for her. Every day. Without fail. So she made a firm decision. If she couldn’t help him with whatever was keeping him awake at night, she could at least help him with the kitchen.

"You promised you’d teach me when we moved in," she reminded him last Monday evening, standing in front of the stove as he stirred soup.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "I did, didn’t I?"

"You did. And now I’m cashing it in. I’m not letting you carry everything by yourself," she had said, trying to sound brave and not like her heart was pounding in her chest. Back then, she wasn’t used to asking for things. Especially not help. But Kendrick’s quiet gentleness made her feel like it was okay to ask.

He smiled then. A soft, lopsided smile that always made her chest feel a little too tight. "Alright. Starting tomorrow, you’re on prep duty."

She could still hear his voice from earlier this week when she scrambled the eggs too fast and ended up with a weird, rubbery texture. "Gentle, Zeph. It’s not a race," he said, laughing as he showed her the right way. "Here, watch."

Now, she tried to mimic exactly how he held the whisk, the way his wrist moved smoothly in a small circle. She lowered the heat slightly, just like he told her. "Too hot and they’ll dry up before you blink," he had warned.

As she stirred the eggs softly, she reached for the salt and pepper and paused. Kendrick always said seasoning was the soul of any meal.

He told her to add a little at a time and taste, which she had hesitated to do; tasting food midway still felt strange. But remembering how he guided her hand toward the salt shaker with a small grin, she now smiled to herself and mimicked the same motion.

While the eggs cooked, she moved to the vegetables. Kendrick had shown her how to slice onions without crying, though she never really mastered that part. Still, she grabbed the knife with a determined grip and remembered how he always stressed safety first. "Tuck your fingers in. Always."

She sliced slowly, the onion layers falling into neat little pieces on the chopping board. Not perfect, but neat enough to feel proud of. She added them to the pan with a splash of oil and a soft sizzle filled the kitchen.

Every step felt like walking through a memory. That first dinner they cooked together, when she nearly dropped the entire bowl of marinated chicken. He caught it in time, laughed, and called it their "almost disaster." Or when she tried to boil pasta and forgot to add salt, and Kendrick calmly drained it, added fresh water, and started over without a word of frustration.

He was always like that with her: gentle, patient. Even when she stumbled. Even when she didn’t feel like she could do anything right.

She moved around the kitchen now with a sense of purpose. She checked the rice, just like he had taught her: one part rice, two parts water, and don’t peek once the lid’s on. She adjusted the flame carefully, hearing his voice in her head. "Cooking’s like life, Zeph. Too high and you burn everything. Too low and nothing ever gets done."

A soft laugh escaped her lips. "You and your metaphors," she murmured.

The sound of the eggs lightly sizzling made her turn back to them. She gave it a gentle stir, smiling as she saw them cook just right. Not dry. Not runny. Just the way Kendrick liked them.

She was halfway through preparing the side dishes when she heard the faint buzz of an alarm going off in the next room. Her heart skipped. Kendrick.

He must be waking up.

Sure enough, in the bedroom, Kendrick’s hand shot out to silence the alarm. It was his second alarm. He had set the first one at five, but somehow he had slept through it. That never happened. He blinked slowly, realizing the sun had already started to peek through the curtains.

He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and exhaled deeply. He had only meant to close his eyes for a minute after finishing the files last night. But when he checked the time, it was already past six.

"Damn it," he muttered, pushing himself out of bed.

Dragging himself to the mirror, he winced at the reflection. His eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles prominent. He splashed cold water on his face and brushed his fingers through his messy hair.

"She’s gonna notice," he said to himself, grabbing a towel to dry his face. "Not today. You’re supposed to cook for her."

As he stepped into the hallway, he caught something unexpected. The faint smell of garlic. And butter. His eyes narrowed.

That’s not from last night.

Then came the sound of movement. Dishes. A gentle clang of utensils. The hum of someone quietly moving in the kitchen.

He stiffened. "Wait. Zephany?"

Panic briefly crossed his face. His feet moved faster as his mind flashed back to the first time she tried to cook alone. The burnt toast. The almost fire alarm.

"Please don’t burn down the kitchen," he muttered under his breath, picking up his pace as he headed toward the source of the sound.

As he rounded the corner, his heart beat a little faster. But what he saw made him stop at the kitchen doorway.

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