NovelOnlineRoseanne chuckled, "Oh con, since when do guests end up in the kitchen?"
"Well, the guest insists he's more than happy to help."
With extra hands, the prep work flew by much quicker.
Once everything was set, Roseanne fetched the bass from the aromatic water, gently laid it on a plate, then
patted it dry with paper towels before brushing its surface with olive oil to seal in the freshness. Owen found
himself without a task, simply standing by, "Need a hand with anything?"
"Could you grab the steaming rack for me?"
"Sure thing."
He was tall enough to reach it with ease, but the tricky part was that the rack was hanging right above
Roseanne's head.
Which meant, to get it, Owen had to stand right behind her.
This brief proximity, as if enveloping her within his arms, thankfully lasted just a moment - too quick to be
awkward. "Here you go." Roseanne reached out.
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Owen passed it to her.
Their fingers brushed accidentally during the handoff, causing him to catch his breath.
Roseanne, however, didn't seem fazed as she took the rack, placed it in the pot, and began steaming the fish.
"Ahem! Anything else | can do to help?" Owen retracted his hand, clearing his throat.
Roseanne glanced over the counter, saying, "Hmm... All the sides are ready, and the seasonings are all set. Why
don't you head on out? I've got the rest."
The kitchen, being in an old, compact house, felt instantly more spacious with him out of it.
Was it just Roseanne's imagination, or did the air seem to cool down a bit too?
Twenty minutes later-
Roseanne turned off the stove, removed her apron, and brought the dishes to the table. Owen hadn't been idle
either, having already set the placemats and silverware.
"Isn't there a soup still in the kitchen? I'll get it." He didn't wait for a response, already heading to the kitchen.
Indeed, a creamy mushroom soup hadn't been served yet.
Roseanne glanced at his
figure, mom
at the fridge. After a
, she stood and took
cans of beer.
Turning around, she found herself caught in Owen's calm gaze, feeling inexplicably sheepish. "Um... Leda came
over the other day, and we got these. Care for one, Mr. Reynolds?"
Her words hung in the air, and Roseanne wondered why she felt the need to justify herself.
Seeing her evasive look, a hint of amusement flickered in Owen's eyes. "I've got lab work this afternoon, better
not." "Oh. Then I..." Roseanne hesitated.
Owen just looked at her.
Roseanne swallowed. "...maybe | shouldn't either?"
"Right. Let's eat."
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With no other choice, Roseanne reluctantly put the beers back.
They settled at the table, and Roseanne took a deep breath, standing up to address Owen with a serious tone:
"Mr. Reynolds, | want to thank you for your support and assistance during this time. Without your generosity in
sharing your lab, 4'd probably still be lost in self-doubt, afraid to take the next step.
"I'd like to... propose a toast with soup, in lieu of beer."
She had initially wanted to use the beer for this moment.
But since Owen abstained, she improvised with what was available.
"I merely offered you a space; you did all the work and analysis yourself."
He downplayed his contributions,
veloet
but Roseanne knew better. Labs are personal spaces, filled with
important data and confidential files.
QUMS
His willingness to let her cand go as she pleased spoke volumes of his trust in her. &
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