Olivia
“It's perfect, Nathan,” I murmured, my eyes filling with tears. “It tastes just like my dad's.”
Nathan let out a sigh of relief. “Good,” he said, grinning. “I’m glad you like it.”
The tender lamb stew was exactly as I remembered it. The smell, the taste, it was like being wrapped in a warm, comforting blanket. It reminded me of the good old days with my dad. The nostalgia made me smile, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of genuine happiness.
Nathan had nailed it. He had managed to bring me a piece of home and, in doing so, had momentarily swept away the worries and heartaches. For a moment, it was as if I was home again in my dad’s little kitchen, blissfully ignorant of the storms brewing around me.
After dinner, Nathan and I cleaned up the kitchen, exchang
