Chapter 430 Dinner

Steam drifted up from the pot, wrapping the kitchen in warmth as Tilda carefully ladled soup into a waiting bowl.

She could feel it again, that steady weight of Jude’s gaze pressing against her, steady and unwavering, watching her every move.

She set the soup down on the table with a soft clink and tugged off her oven mitts, rolling her eyes so hard it was almost theatrical.

“Quit staring at me like that. You’re making it impossible to keep my head straight. Look, I’m already five minutes behind schedule. I had everything planned out,”

Jude’s voice dropped low, strained as though he was fighting to keep control.

“I’m sorry, Tilda. It’s just that… when it comes to you, I can’t make myself look away.”

He sounded nothing like his usual self. His words tumbled out quickly, as if he was afraid she might take offense.

Tilda gave a small cough, her face warming. “Yeah, I know I’m stunning, but saying it like that…. I don’t even know how to answer you now.”

Her grin came out crooked and awkward.

Jude shook his head slowly. “It isn’t only about that, Tilda. You know what my life was like. Even though my grandmother took care of me, I never knew what a family felt like.

“My mom died giving birth to me. My dad collapsed after she passed. He never raised his hand against me, but he looked at me the way everyone else did, like I was the reason she was gone.

“For me to sit here while someone I care about makes a hearty meal, and to wait for it to be set in front of me… it sounds pathetic, but this has never happened to me before.”

Her chest tightened at the raw edge in his voice.

She breathed out a soft sigh and slid the bowl of soup toward him.

“Go on, have a taste. I bought chicken and mushroom. Tell me what you think.”

“Alright.”

Jude realized he had said too much, turned the moment too heavy. Tonight wasn’t supposed to feel that way. He lifted the spoon, dipped it into the broth, and brought it to his lips.

The flavor hit him all at once. His brows arched, surprise breaking across his face. "This is strange… why…"

Tilda leaned forward, eager.

“So, is it good? Does it finally taste like real soup to you?”

He gave a firm nod. “You expected this, didn’t you? Tilda, how did you make this happen?” His senses had sharpened somewhat since meeting her, but his taste was still faint, muted.

Food usually came to him in dull hints, never the way it was meant to.

Yet now her cooking poured over his tongue with richness, giving him back nearly eighty-five percent of what he thought he had lost. It wasn’t a hundred percent, but it was better than before.

Her lips curved into a proud smile. “Remember when I asked for that research diet you came up with for Omega-type blood carriers? I slipped some of those parts into my recipes.

“Back when you couldn’t taste anything, you had to use that black powder to get by. Now that you’ve regained at least ten percent of your taste, the mix works in your system. I honestly didn’t think it would, but look at this—it worked. Ha!”

Jude found himself caught, unable to look away from her smug little triumph. His mouth softened with a faint smile.

“So I’ve been turned into your test subject."

“Of course you have. But you just tasted something wonderful, didn’t you? So are you going to complain?”

Her grin burned bright, playful and daring, as if she carried the fire of the sun. The sight of her struck him harder than any blow could.

Warmth spread through his chest, chasing away every shadow that had ever tried to claim him.

His eyes narrowed slightly, his voice steady and certain. “No. If it’s you, you can do whatever you want with me.”

Tilda sucked in a breath the wrong way, choking and coughing, her shoulders jerking as she tried to catch air.

She had only been teasing. He did not have to be so serious about a line like that.

Do whatever I want with him? What does that mean?

Her mind rushed to places she shoved away at once.

No. Absolutely not.

“Tilda, are you okay?”

Jude leaned in close, his hand firm against her back, concern carved into his face.

“I’m fine. Just swallowed wrong. Tell me this though, your grandmother never cooked for you?”

Jude shook his head slowly. “She came from old money. She never touched housework. Her family made sure her hands stayed smooth and untouched.”

“Oh, that’s rich people’s thing, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

She wasn’t trying to be funny. She had been born into the Jensons, then abandoned at birth.

She grew up in an orphanage, doing chores from the time she was little, scrubbing floors, washing clothes, and standing at the stove when she was tall enough.

“Tilda, you’re brilliant,” Jude said in a low, steady tone.

“That formula wasn’t built to be easy. Even a scientist with decades of experience struggle with those codes and numbers.”

She waved him off with a laugh. “Don’t butter me up. We both carry the omega blood type. This much was bound to be possible. Call it a gift from above.”

Tilda stuck out her tongue cheekily then speared a piece of steak with her fork and slid it into her mouth.

“Mmm, perfect texture. I knew it. I’m incredible.”

She didn’t bother hiding her self-praise, reaching for another bite without shame.

Tilda had no issue with a little wine at dinner. She wasn’t one to drink hard, but a sip or two calmed her nerves and always helped her drift off to sleep.