Three Years Forgotten, Why Go Crazy When I Say Goodbye? novel Chapter 255

The moment the words left her mouth, Silas chuckled. He leaned back against the refrigerator, arms crossed, exuding an effortless, lazy elegance. "I see what's happening. You're terrified of my cooking. What, worried I'm going to poison you? That it'll be inedible? Relax. I might not show it off often, but I actually know what I'm doing."

He didn't just know what he was doing; he had a few signature dishes he was genuinely proud of. He had learned the ropes from his father.

In the Thorne family, toxic masculinity didn't exist. Instead, the men wore their devotion to their wives as a badge of honor. Silas clearly remembered his father constantly taking over the kitchen to prepare his mother's favorite meals. Even as a kid, Silas had to take a back seat to his mother's culinary preferences.

Grandpa Thorne had always drilled the same lesson into him: *There is no shame in a man cooking, and there is certainly no shame in doting on your wife. Making a meal with your own two hands for the woman you love, and watching her enjoy every bite—that is the absolute pinnacle of a happy marriage.*

Growing up in that environment, Silas had absorbed the lesson completely. Once he met Willow, he had tirelessly refined his culinary skills, mastering a select few dishes until they were restaurant quality.

"No, of course not. That's not what I meant," Willow rushed to explain. "I just feel terrible showing up empty-handed and then making you cook. I'm pretty sure I'm the only employee in the world who would have the nerve to let her boss do that."

Silas hated how she constantly boxed herself into the 'employee' role. "There's nothing to feel bad about. It's just a meal. Besides, we aren't at the office right now. You can drop the boss-and-subordinate dynamic."

He paused, a playful glint in his eye. "Tell you what. You can be my sous-chef."

"Me?" Willow blinked in surprise.

"What, you don't want to?"

"No, it's not that. I'm just worried I'll mess it up." She had never possessed a natural talent for cooking. Between her grueling work hours and lack of interest, she had never needed to learn. Even when she lived alone in Seattle, her meals consisted of whatever was fastest and easiest to throw together—just enough to keep her from starving.

"It's easy. Don't stress," Silas encouraged her. "You can start with the apron. Tie it for me in the back."

"Thanks."

Willow returned to her spot, looking up at him. She suddenly noticed a faint flush on his cheeks and a strange intensity in his eyes. "What is it? Did I tie it too tight?"

"No, it's perfect." Silas smoothly averted his gaze, turning toward the kitchen island. "Actually, maybe you shouldn't help after all. I can handle it myself."

"Absolutely not," Willow protested. It was already embarrassing enough that he was cooking for her; if she just sat back and did nothing, she'd feel too guilty to eat.

Determined to help, she followed him right into the kitchen.