note: I think I'm dying. Uni is slowly killing me. Someone send help. 

On a serious note, this dinner was one of my favourite things to write about in this book and I hope you like it! Enjoy the chapter lovelies, and be sure to leave your feedback in the comments below + vote if you enjoyed the chapter xx

══ ● ══

Andrew helped himself to second servings, and third servings. There was no way he could lie or even think of pulling London's leg. Her cooking was truly exceptional and even though he was certain he was full he kept going for more. Her food gave him cravings and those cravings called out to be satiated immediately. He even remembered that quick sandwich she made for him before he headed to his divorce meeting. A simple sandwich that was but absolutely delicious.

This dinner was even more so and he couldn't stop complimenting the chef.

"Oh my God, shut up," she giggled, her grin wide and pleased as she rolled her eyes. "Now you're just exaggerating."

"Think whatever you want to," he said, digging his fork into the last bit of the potato mash and a piece of his steak, sliding it generously through the gravy. "So long as I keep getting to eat this I'm okay. I could die at this moment and I would be content."

"Oh shush," she rolled her eyes, waving her hand in dismissal through his generous comments only made her feel proud. She was beaming at the end of his every word. It had been a while since she cooked for someone and though they had commented on how lovely her food was, Andrew was taking his compliments to the next level, obviously exaggerating every time he saw her grin but London could hardly complain. With her career having hit a rock, this sort of assurance — laced with amusement and fun — was exactly what she had needed and Andrew was there to deliver it to her. He knew her struggle. He wasn't about to let her suffer. She needed a night to shine.

"Sweet and savoury?" Andrew questioned in awe as they both settled on the couch, in front of the blank television, soft music playing through the apartment as they both nursed a plate full of what he assumed was meringue.

She winked playfully and he laughed, saying, "I'm so stuffed but damn, this looks inviting."

"It's pavlova topped with kiwis and strawberries. I make it a lot and I usually prefer berries instead of kiwis but I thought I'd try something different tonight. The kiwis looked so plain on top though so I had to throw in another fruit and strawberry works well with kiwi. Adds that sweetness and the cream — oh, it's a perfect combination," she rambled on and though he wasn't following her train of thought — he'd lost her at the mention of kiwis, he paid heed to her words. It was captivating, the way she talked about what she was passionate about, and even if Andrew didn't understand he still listened.

"I think I'm salivating just from that description," he said, plucking his wine glass to take another sip before placing it down on the coaster, as London asked him to do. Apparently she was very picky about moisture lines appearing on her coffee tables. According to her that's why coasters were invented.

"Well then," she pushed encouragingly, "Go on. Tell me how it tastes."

Grabbing the spoon that lay on the side of the plate, he pressed down into the dessert. It moved smoothly through the fruit and cream before hitting the meringue base. Once he had cut into the meringue and had all elements on the spoon, he grabbed a mouthful and took a moment to give her proper feedback, letting all the flavours work against his palette.

"If I was one of the judges on those food contests that are always going on the telly I'd have a way to describe how everything is working so well on my palette but since I don't know how to tell you that, I'm just going to do this."

He went for another spoon.

And then another.

London laughed, thrilled with his reply. "I should invite you over more often. You boost my confidence."

As she dug into her own dessert, Andrew said, "You shouldn't have to doubt yourself, London. Your cooking truly is exceptional. And so is your baking."

She shrugged, leaning back on the couch after tucking her legs beneath her. "The thing is that I know what I cook is good. I know my flavours, I even know good presentation styles. It's just... I've been working for four years now. Well, five if you take into account my gap year that I spent working in fast food diners. And it feels like I'm stuck in the same bloody place. No sous chef. No chef. It's killing me. It's what I want so bad and yes, I know, I'm only twenty-five. I have time to achieve my dreams but nothing has changed. I feel stuck."

"That's not true," Andrew immediately inputted. "You might feel stuck but things are slowly working themselves out. You told me the other day that you and your sister were back on track, that you resolved some issue with her. And you got that call the other day about the possibility of being head chef at a new restaurant that's opening."

She smiled, slowly giving in. "I suppose," she started, a seed of hope flowering within her.

"You just have to give it time," Andrew assured her.

"You should give it time too," she said, repeating his advice back to him.

He raised his eyebrows in inquisition.

"With your ex-wife and you child," London expanded. "Talia is probably being cautious. Show her that you're a model father and I'm sure she'll lax down all those barriers she's trying to place between you and Aurora."

He was silent for a moment and London felt the need to add on. "You're a great person, Andrew," she said and he found himself looking back up at her, his eyes connecting with hers. "Believe in yourself. I'm sure you're just as great a father as you are as a person."

He leaned his arm back on the couch after taking another spoon of his dessert. London mimicked him, eating up her own dessert. "I thought we exhausted all conversation topics at the table," he started.

She laughed. "That was probably the longest dinner I had."

He grinned. "I'm curious. You say you haven't done this date thing in a while," he continued, "but you don't seem to pause awkwardly in search of a conversation topic. It's like you're a natural."

"Maybe around you I am," she replied, her reply instant and when he caught her gaze he saw that the words had just spilled out.

Andrew paused. Her eyes caught his and instead of retreating, she smiled at him, those alluring lips of hers tipped up. Unable to control the grin, he said, "I like how we're talking about everything."

"I do, too," she said, adjusting herself on the couch and bumping her shoulder against his.

He looked at her. She looked beautiful. She looked breath-taking when she'd opened the door for him but right now, sitting beside him, it took all his restraint not to lean in and tell her through actions just exactly what was going through his mind.

"Have you always cooked for your first dates?" he asked, curious and in the need to create a wall between them. He'd just gotten divorced and yes, he was out on a date but he didn't expect anything more. He didn't want London to have second thoughts either. He knew about her reservations about being extra friendly with a divorcee who had issues of his own to work through, and he didn't need reason for her to push him away.

He liked her company. It was perhaps what was keeping him sane in all this chaos.

"No," she replied, taking a moment to think of her past dates. "I cooked a lot and I only cooked for two of my boyfriends. Not as fancy and delicious as tonight — my skills were not as refined then — but those were the only ones I had cooked for. They were my only two serious boyfriends."

He cleaned the last bit of pavlova off his plate. He noticed that this action did not pass her eye and the small smile on her lips as he put down the empty plate on the coffee table made him smile too. "What happened to them?"

"The first serious boyfriend that I had was my first crush. He liked me back. This was at the beginning of secondary school. I didn't know much about cooking so all we did was make sandwiches but that was still a sacred moment for me because we made sandwiches, together. Cooking is a very intimate thing," she explained and there was no way he could tear his gaze from her. "It's something special. It's not just food. It's an art. Chefs are creators. We create magic on the plate and in the bellies of many people — wait, that sounded weird."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I hope you get what I mean," she continued, biting down on her lip as if she were taking too much.

She could ramble on and on, and he'd never get tired of hearing her voice, he decided right there and then.

"I do," he nodded and he did. Food took effort, her cooking was an art of its own. It took imagination and a creator's heart to do what she did.

"We had to break up because he, uh, fell in love with another girl. We were teenagers then, we barely understood our own emotions. I hated him when he first broke up with me. Or me break up with him because he didn't want to upset me so he continued liking this other girl from afar while he still kept dating me. I called it off after my sister told me it was wrong keeping a guy who didn't even like me anymore. Before we both graduated we actually got along again. A Levels was like tying loose ends before my move to Porte Orlands for uni."

Andrew nodded. Through her story he had shifted, angled his body so that he was facing her. "At least that ended on good terms. My mother scared off my first girlfriend," Andrew laughed.

"She did?" London gasped, laughing. "What did your mother do?"

"Pulled out her aggressive parenting," Andrew joked. "What happened to your second serious boyfriend?"

"He was staying back in London for uni and we tried to work things out. After all, Porte Orlands was only an hour's drive from London when there's no traffic but it just didn't work out. It became awkward and we decided to call it off."

"And when did you cook for him?"

"The day before we parted," she smiled, like she was remembering a happy memory. "I told him I wanted to have one last meal with him before we called it quits and he asked if I could cook for it since he's heard my mother talk about my cooking non-stop." She looked at him. "My mother would have liked you."

Andrew wanted to ask if she missed her mother but it was a foolish question. "Is it hard?" he asked instead.

"Most of the time it is but this past week it's been better actually. Talking with my sister lately has really been helping," she told him, a small proud smile touching her lips.

"See," he pointed out, giving her a playful wink, "You're not as stuck as you think you are."

He leaned away from the couch and picked up his half empty glass from the coffee table. Returning to his earlier position, he raised his glass. "Wei jiankang ganbei," he said, his words eloquently moving in rhythm. He watched as her red stained lips formed an O, her eyes widening slightly in curiosity.

"A toast," he explained, "for your health."

Her eyes found his, her lips forming a smile now — soft, beautiful — and it took everything in him to return his gaze back to her eyes but even then he seemed to get sucked into them almost immediately.

"Wei jiankang ganbei," she said, repeating him but her accents were all off.

"Wei jiankang ganbei," he corrected, slowly for her to grasp the pronunciation.

She raised her own glass again, her eyes catching his. "Wei jiankang ganbei."

The two drank to their health and to the life that awaited them.