A U T U M N
He mixed the spaghetti with the sauce and served it with grated Parmesan and some fresh basils. It smelt so good that I could hear my stomach sing.
Phraser smiled as he handed me the cutleries. "Dig in." And so I did, I twisted the spaghetti using the fork and put it in my mouth. "How is it?" asked him. I looked up and found his eyes staring back at me, waiting for my reply.
I smiled. "It's wonderful." My reply made him smile like a kid in a candy store. His eyes sparkled as he smiled. "Your family must be so lucky."
His lips twitched. "Why?" He looked at me quizzically.
I gave him a duh look. "They have you cooking great food daily." I shrugged one shoulder.
He chewed and swallowed. "I don't cook for my family." A small frown appeared on his forehead. "They have their own chef."
I blinked. "Not even once?"
Slowly, he shook his head. "Nope."
