"You seem excited," I said, watching Dad hurry about the kitchen.

He grinned. "Of course, I am. This is gonna be fun."

I rolled my eyes. "How fun can it be?"

Dad shook his head and sighed. "You'd be surprised."

"I'm not convinced," I replied sceptically.

"You know it depends on your attitude, right?" Dad asked, raising his brow at me.

"Huh?"

"Your attitude effects a lot of things: happiness, how much fun you have or even your determination, persistence and purpose. Your attitude determines your outlook on life."

My brows furrowed in confusion. I shrugged, raising my hands innocently.

Dad chuckled. "You'll understand one day."

There came a knock at the door and Dad's grin fell. "No, I'm not ready yet! Rose, stall him!"

"What? How?" I yelped, unsure of what he wanted me to do.

"I don't know! Just work it out!"

I groaned and walked from the kitchen. I headed down the hall and opened the door. Fable smiled at me and I smiled back.

"Hey Fable, come on in. Dad's just getting things ready."

I led Fable down the hall and back to the kitchen. I sat down on a stool behind the bench and Fable jumped onto a stool beside me. It was a high jump for him, and his chair wobbled at first. He fell to the side, crashing onto my lap. My face went bright red as I stared down at him.

Dad chuckled. "Heh, couple goals."

I went even redder and glared at him. Fable sat back up in his chair and acted like nothing had happened. Huh, maybe he didn't hear Dad's comment?

"Well Fable, I'm glad you could make it," Dad said, grinning from ear to ear. "Before we get started, how good are you at cooking?"

Fable frowned and blew a raspberry.

Dad raised his paw thoughtfully to his chin. "Hm, that bad huh?"

Fable nodded.

Dad shrugged. "Oh well, we'll fix that. Come around here and we'll get started."

In case you're still not sure what's happening, let me explain. Remember when Fable came over to work on that weather project and Dad offered cooking lessons? Yeah, well, that's what's happening. I have to wonder though: Is Fable doing this so he can cook his mother nice meals? I smiled at the thought.

Fable was standing on the countertop, reading over a recipe. He's so cute. I heard a quiet sound and looked to the side. Dad was snickering at me. I glared at him. Yeah, Dad knows my secret. We're close, so I can't hide anything from him: Believe me, I've tried.

I rolled my eyes and ignored him. He stopped laughing long enough to grab out a bowl and some ingredients. Dad placed them on the countertop before checking one last time that they have everything they need.

"Alright Fable, we're gonna start simple. Are you ready for... Omelettes!" Dad shouted it dramatically and raised his frying pan in the air.

I groaned; he's so embarrassing. Though, I think Fable's eyes just lit up... This is weird.

"Right, first, grab a bowl. Then, take your eggs, two per Pokémon, and crack them, like this."

Dad grabbed a knife and cracked an egg before dropping it into the bowl. The egg I mean, he didn't put the knife in the bowl; that would be a sharp omelette... We're getting off track.

"You did it wrong," I said, watching through bored eyes.

Dad raised his eyebrow at me. "Excuse me? Who's the Master Chef here?"

"Not you apparently."

Dad's jaw dropped. I rolled my eyes and leaned over the counter. Grabbing the next egg, I cracked it on the countertop and dropped it into the bowl.

"Use a flat surface to crack the egg. That way, you're less likely to get shell in there," I said all-knowingly.

"That doesn't make any sense," Dad replied.

"There's science behind it. Google it."

"Google?"

"Inside joke," I said, waving off Dad's question.

Dad just shrugged and watched. I showed Fable how to crack an egg – the better way – walking him through it step by step. At first, he struggled a bit, being a quadruped and all, but he got after a few tries. I'm not really sure how he did it so I'm not even going to try and explain it.

"Right, now that the eggs are done, put some milk in," Dad said, pouring some milk into the bowl. He stopped short and I groaned; isn't he supposed to be good at this?

"That's not enough," I said, taking the milk and pouring some more in. "And it doesn't have to be milk. You can use cream or something else."

"Alright fine, you take over," Dad said, throwing his hands in the air.

I rolled my eyes, smirked, and became the Master Chef. I showed Fable how to pour and flip an omelette. Oh, and I taught him a neat trick.

"Here, pour the omelette in first, then sprinkle the cheese over the top. That way, it melts in delicious little clumps. It's really good."

Pretty soon, the omelettes were done. We got them out of the pan and seasoned them. We'd cooked some toast to go with them and then sat down to eat. Fable took a bite and his eyes lit up.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Congrats, now you can make omelettes. And the skills you got in that will help you cook other dishes too. Now all you really need is some recipes."

Dad grinned. "I've got some old cookbooks I could give you."

In that moment I could swear I saw tears welling in Fable's eyes. In all the time I've known him, I don't think I've ever seen him that happy. It warmed my heart and my smile grew even wider.

This. This is what I've missed about cooking. Everyone enjoying my meal, smiling because of it...

That's when it hit me. Dad had been screwing up on purpose. He's the one who taught me how to make an omelette in the first place! He'd known I'd tell him how to do it better. He was just trying to get me to cook again. He had been reminding me how much I love it.

Right then, I joined Fable; joyous tears pooling in my eyes. I laughed loudly, trying to keep the tears in. Wow, I guess just a simple meal... can be a real blessing. Being a Master Chef is just a bonus.

"Congratulations, you'll be like Brock soon enough," Dad said, smiling.

"Who's Brock?"

"Inside joke," Dad said, grinning and tapping his nose in a knowing gesture.