Sylvan Cheney was thoroughly enjoying being served by her.
At least, he hadn't experienced this for many years.
Jasmine Yale hopped off the bed and poured him a glass of plain water.
"It's a bit hot, be careful." She cautioned.
"I'm hungry, go downstairs and make some supper." Sylvan Cheney said again.
"Oh." Jasmine Yale pouted, "What do you want to eat, I'm not a good cook."
"What can you make?"
"Absolutely nothing." Jasmine Yale shrugged.
Sylvan Cheney: "..."
"Maybe noodles, that's probably the only thing edible." Jasmine Yale declared confidently, "And if you can't eat it, don't be picky, because if you are, I won't cook for you anymore."
"..."
With that, Jasmine Yale left the bedroom and headed towards the kitchen.
The night was deep, the hour hand of the clock on the wall pointed to "9".
Jasmine Yale found the noodles, cut some green onions, even specially fried an egg.
The aroma of food spread throughout the kitchen, very enticing.
