It was not long after that encounter that I found myself standing in the kitchen of Marcels’ house. Of course, it wasn’t the first time that I had been in there, because I had watched Marcel make each and every one of the meals that we had had up until then. But this time, being in it felt different. Because now I was more than just a casual onlooker, viewing as the cooking was done.
I was the cook.
I was the person who was now responsible for making sure that the three onlookers would enjoy the meal that I prepared for them, even though I was a hundred percent sure that there would be one of them that despised the way that I cooked, that would hate my human way of doing things—and that would be his mother.
But I had already told myself that I shouldn’t allow it to get to me. No matt
