The Day I Quit Him (Autumn and Mars) novel Chapter 199

**Chasing Light, Finding Peace by Rohan Verma**

**Chapter 199**

Inside the elegant confines of Owen Bennett’s villa, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Autumn Lopez sat at the dining table, her eyes wide and sparkling with curiosity as Owen carefully set a plate of steaming, freshly made pasta in front of her. The sight was almost comical, and she fought back a laugh that threatened to escape her lips.

In a desperate attempt to maintain her composure, she mentally rummaged through a catalog of sad thoughts, each one more dismal than the last, just to wipe the grin off her face.

“So, when you mentioned you could cook, did you mean you could only whip up pasta?” she teased, her tone light but her heart racing.

Owen looked at her, a hint of confusion creasing his brow. “You don’t like pasta?” he asked, his voice laced with sincerity.

Oh no, no, no. The pasta that Owen had prepared was drenched in a rich, vibrant tomato sauce, and the sweet, tangy aroma danced playfully in the air, curling around Autumn’s senses and teasing her taste buds.

As she gazed at the sauce that clung lovingly to each strand of pasta, her mouth watered involuntarily. The notion of “not having an appetite” felt like a distant memory. At that moment, she could have devoured not just the pasta but the plate itself, and everything that came with it.

But still…

“Is pasta, like, a real *dish*?” she asked, genuine curiosity coloring her voice.

After all, pasta had a reputation; it was often dismissed as the meal of the lazy, a quick fix for those who forgot to prepare something more elaborate. Food bloggers frequently turned to it as a last-minute filler when they found themselves short on time or inspiration. Most people perceived it as just a fancier, upscale version of instant ramen, nothing more.

When Owen had declared that he could cook, Autumn had envisioned a lavish, gourmet feast, not a simple plate of pasta.

Owen’s brow furrowed deeper at her inquiry. “Pasta doesn’t count as a dish?” he questioned, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

Autumn hesitated, caught off guard by the weight of her words. “Uh…” she began, unsure of how to navigate this delicate situation. She wanted to say no, but the last thing she wanted was to upset him.

After a moment of contemplation, she settled on a diplomatic approach. “Well, it’s definitely a type of food, I suppose. And it’s super convenient. You don’t even have to think about mains and sides; you just eat it.”

Despite her careful wording, Owen understood her underlying message all too well.

He glanced at her, and in a swift motion, picked up the plate of pasta, turning to walk away. “I’ll have Mrs. Turner get someone to make you something else,” he stated, his tone neutral but carrying an undertone of disappointment.

“Hey—”

Autumn leapt from her seat, scrambling to intercept him. “Don’t! I never said I wouldn’t eat it!” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with urgency.

She instinctively rubbed her stomach, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her demeanor. “I’m really, really hungry. It’ll take forever to wait for something else. I mean, it’s one thing for me to be hungry, but we can’t let the baby go hungry, right?”

It was the first time Autumn had ever used the baby as leverage, and her voice softened, almost pouting as she made her case.

Owen’s gaze lingered on her, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a flicker of warmth igniting in his chest.

“Then you should eat,” he said gently, placing the plate back down. “Try it first and see if you like it. If not, I’ll whip up something else.”

Autumn, driven by her ravenous hunger, didn’t care about the taste anymore. With determination, she took the fork, twirled up a generous bite of pasta, and popped it into her mouth. The explosion of sweet and tangy flavor danced across her palate, awakening her appetite like a long-dormant beast. She dove into the dish, devouring it with an eagerness that surprised even herself.

Though she ate quickly, her manners remained elegant. It was a sight that could make anyone’s stomach rumble with hunger.

Owen, who hadn’t been particularly hungry, felt a tightness in his throat as he watched her. “Is it really that good?” he asked softly, genuine curiosity lacing his tone.

Although he had never cooked for anyone else, he had sampled his own culinary creations before. They were passable, sure, but certainly not good enough to inspire such fervor in Autumn.

*Is she just messing with me?* he wondered, skepticism creeping into his thoughts as his eyes remained fixed on her.

Autumn nodded vigorously, her enthusiasm infectious. “It’s delicious!”

In mere moments, she had polished off most of the plate, and feeling a lingering emptiness, she looked up at Owen with hopeful eyes. “Is there any more?”

Now, Owen found himself compelled to believe her.

“Yeah, I’ll go get you some,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

He quickly returned with another generous helping, and Autumn continued to eat until she felt completely satisfied.

Watching her devour the pasta, Owen even found himself indulging a bit more than usual, his own appetite stirred by her enthusiasm.

Mrs. Turner, who had been observing from a distance, couldn’t hide her delight. Owen was typically so self-restrained, almost robotic in his adherence to a strict schedule. But now, here was someone who could coax him into breaking his own rules, and it filled her with joy to witness it.

The scene was heartwarming; the sterile villa felt a touch warmer, more alive.

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