Chapter 8 - The Chef's Return
Six months later.
The main kitchen of Blackwood Manor was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasted garlic, fresh basil, and simmering red wine sauce.
Elena stood by the marble counter, wearing a simple navy linen apron over a soft white sweater and jeans. Her dark hair was pulled back into a messy bun as she expertly tossed fresh linguine in a large copper skillet.
Bruno sat contentedly on his plush dog bed near the warm brick oven, chewing on a large marrow bone Marcus had brought him from the local butcher.
The swinging kitchen door pushed open softly.
Adrian walked inside, wearing a dark gray turtleneck sweater and dark trousers. He had just returned from a three-day logistics summit in New York, his flight landing thirty minutes ago.
He dropped his leather travel bag by the door and walked straight toward the kitchen island.
"I thought the Chief Executive Officer of the Moreau Foundation didn't do kitchen shifts anymore," Adrian murmured, his voice velvety and warm as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Elena leaned back into his warm chest, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "I missed cooking for my favorite patient."
"Patient?" Adrian chuckled, kissing the soft spot behind her ear. "I haven't been injured in months."
"You're always working too hard," Elena replied, turning around in his arms to wrap her hands around his neck. "Marcus told me you skipped lunch today during the board meeting."
Adrian smirked, his dark eyes sparkling with wicked affection. "Marcus talks too much. I'm going to reassign him to the night shift at the docks."
"Don't you dare," Elena smiled, pressing a sweet kiss against his lips. "He's coming over for dinner with Camila in twenty minutes."
Adrian looked at the array of fresh food on the counter—rosemary chicken, truffle pasta, warm garlic bread, and a bottle of twenty-year-old Bordeaux breathing in a glass decanter.
"Reminds me of nineteen days after you arrived," Adrian murmured softly, his hand resting gently against her cheek. "When a ninety-eight-pound dog ignored every command I gave him because he recognized the girl he loved."
"Bruno didn't ignore your commands because he was disobedient," Elena said softly, looking over at the sleeping Doberman. "He did it because he knew you needed me just as much as I needed him."
Adrian looked down at her, his expression turning serious, full of a quiet, profound gratitude that words could never fully express.
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"He was right," Adrian admitted softly. "I was living in a cold, paranoid prison, Elena. I was becoming the very man I hated. You saved me."
"We saved each other, Adrian," Elena whispered, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him again—a slow, tender kiss that tasted like home.
