The warm liquid flowed by my throat and reached my empty belly. An explosion of blended flavors left my tongue craving for more.
An extravagant meal was laid before us—shrimp rolls, fried rice, chicken, broth, fried dumplings, and noodles.
My gluttonous self was drooling and wishing I had more space in my stomach to devour everything.
The kid wasn't bluffing.
His mother was the best cook.
But that was second to my mother, of course.
To me, my mother's cooking is still number one.
Finishing my meal while salivating on the unfinished ones, Fifi subtly kicked my leg. I knew it was her without looking up.
The two other women in our company consider me a stranger that was kind enough to help them. Fifi was the only person who would dare to challenge and smack me in the head.
She was Priscilla incarnate.
