The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 350

Quinn Foster booked a private dining room at an upscale bistro near the school.

The room had been reserved well in advance, boasting floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a small, minimalist courtyard. White gravel was perfectly raked around a few strategically placed stones, while wisteria vines clung to the bamboo fencing, their blossoms just beginning to fade.

Archie Foster took off his school blazer, folded it neatly onto the chair beside him, wiped his hands with a warm napkin, and waited quietly for the food.

Quinn ordered a few of the restaurant's specialties—pan-seared sea bass, honey-glazed short ribs, and vanilla panna cotta. Then, she pulled a thermos out of her bag. It was the Silky Chicken & Collagen Broth that Rosemary Hayes had spent two hours simmering that morning until it was rich and creamy.

"Rosemary made this. You should have some."

She had her own silverware set in front of her but had barely touched it. Instead, she kept glancing up at him, her eyes filled with hesitation and something she had been repressing for a very long time.

As she served Archie, she casually asked a few roundabout questions about how things were going at school.

Archie answered each one, his tone polite but brief. Then, he set down his fork, took a sip of his water, and adopted a deceptively casual tone.

"Archie, Garrison hasn't... been home in a while. Has he mentioned anything to you? Like meeting someone new, or... any recent developments?"

Archie paused. He finished chewing, swallowed his food, and wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin before looking up at Quinn.

Those eyes—those light amber eyes that were a mirror image of Garrison's—stared at her calmly. They held a maturity that far surpassed his ten years of age.

He stared at the bowl, his voice calm and sincere.

"Just like this bowl. The ingredients are top-tier, it was simmered for hours, and it was served piping hot. I know Rosemary must have woken up before dawn again to make it. It's incredibly healthy and nutritious. Anyone would call it a fantastic dish. But..." He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "I just don't like the taste."

"It's not that the soup is bad; it's just that my palate isn't used to it. Me disliking it doesn't mean the soup has no value, and it certainly doesn't mean I don't love Rosemary. It's just... people have different tastes."

He gently pushed the bowl aside, picked up his fork again, and placed a piece of honey-glazed short rib onto his plate.

"It's the same with Garrison. Garrison doesn't dislike you because you're flawed. You're beautiful, gentle, and caring. You've been so good to me since I was little."