Sarah stepped into the house, the faint aroma of spices already teasing her senses. She smiled to herself—it had become a strange comfort, this new life she was easing into. She kicked off her heels at the entrance, stretched her aching shoulders, and walked into the kitchen.
There, she found Mark standing by the open fridge, sleeves rolled up, sorting through vegetables and protein with a look of quiet concentration.
"I guess the cooking lesson starts now," Sarah said with a half-smile, leaning against the doorway.
Mark looked up, his eyes warm. "Yeah, but first—go change. You're still in your office clothes since morning."
Sarah glanced down at her fitted blouse and skirt. "Right. Don't want to spill curry on my Chanel."
Mark smirked. "Exactly."
A few minutes later, she returned in a pair of soft cotton joggers and a loose lavender T-shirt. Her hair was loosely tied up now, her makeup removed, and her bare feet padded silently over the cool kitchen tiles.
Mark handed her an apron. "Alright, Chef Sarah. Let's start with chicken curry. First, wash your hands."
She did, then joined him at the counter where ingredients were already laid out with military precision—chopped onions, garlic, ginger, diced tomatoes, a tray of boneless chicken, fresh coriander, and small glass bowls filled with colorful spices.
Mark pointed. "Start by sautéing those onions. Heat the oil until it shimmers."
Sarah added oil to a deep skillet and waited. When Mark nodded, she gently slid in the onions. They sizzled loudly, and she jumped slightly. "That's normal," Mark said with a chuckle. "Now stir until they turn golden brown."
They worked side by side, Mark adjusting the heat, Sarah stirring. Once the onions softened and deepened in color, she added the minced garlic and ginger. The aroma turned richer, sharper.
"Now tomatoes," he instructed.
She added them, watching them break down slowly, mixing into the onion-garlic base. Then he handed her the spices—turmeric, ground coriander, cumin, red chili, and garam masala.
"It's like painting with powders," she murmured as she sprinkled them in.
"The trick is to fry the spices for a bit. Let them bloom in the oil."
Soon, the masala turned thick and dark, almost paste-like. Mark gave her the chicken pieces to stir in. The meat sizzled and began to absorb the spices immediately.
They added water and covered the pot. While it simmered, Mark pulled out a cedar plank soaking in water.
"We're doing salmon too?" Sarah asked.
"Yeah. Ever tried cedar-planked salmon?"
She shook her head. "Nope. Sounds fancy."
"It's easy, just needs love," Mark replied.
He patted the plank dry, brushed it with olive oil, then handed her the salmon filet. Under his guidance, she rubbed in a mixture of crushed garlic, dill, smoked paprika, lemon zest, and sea salt. They layered thin lemon slices on top and placed the whole thing onto the plank.
"That goes in the oven for about 20 to 25 minutes," Mark said, setting the tray inside.
As the minutes passed, the house filled with the cozy blend of curry spices and gentle cedar smoke. Sarah leaned on the counter, watching the curry bubble softly, the steam rising like a promise of comfort.
She peeked at Mark, who was rinsing some herbs in the sink. "You're really good at this, you know."
He glanced back. "Cooking?"
"No… this. Making things feel normal."
Mark paused, then smiled. "Maybe because I've never had normal. So I've learned to create it."
Sarah didn't say anything—she didn't need to. She just watched the way his hands moved with quiet purpose, and for the first time in a long time, she felt… home.
*****
After finishing up in the kitchen, Mark and Sarah sat at the dining table together. The warm lighting cast a soft glow across the room, and the delicious scent of curry and cedar still lingered faintly in the air.
Sarah slowly spooned rice onto her plate, her expression distant. Though she ate and smiled from time to time, Mark noticed her shoulders were slightly hunched, her sighs subtle but frequent. He watched her quietly, then finally said,
"You've been sighing for a while now. What's really bothering you?"
Caught off guard, Sarah blinked, then forced a small laugh. "It's nothing serious. Just work stuff."
Mark raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
She hesitated. She didn't want to drag him into the social disaster that was unfolding in high society. The rumors, the gossip… she didn't want him to know—not yet. So she thought fast and decided on a harmless half-truth.
"Oh! It's just the Eastbridge Logistics Project," she said, exhaling heavily for dramatic effect. "It was supposed to be presented next month, but today I got news that the deadline has been pushed to tomorrow. It was a project that could've elevated the company to a whole new level, but now…" she gave a light, self-deprecating laugh, "it feels like that chance has been shattered before it even started."
She stirred her food absentmindedly, expecting sympathy.
But Mark just looked at her and said calmly, "So it's just a small matter shaking your peace of mind. Then prepare the proposal tonight and present it tomorrow."
Sarah looked at him like he had just spoken a foreign language. "It's not that easy, Mark. This is a major contract. The proposal needs to be strategic, polished, and airtight. You can't just throw it together overnight."
"Who said you can't?" he replied.
She opened her mouth to respond, but paused when she saw the calm confidence in his eyes. There wasn't a trace of mockery or exaggeration—he meant it. Her expression slowly changed as the realization hit her.
"Wait…" she leaned forward slightly, narrowing her eyes, "Are you saying you can do it?"
Mark shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "It's just a proposal."
Sarah stared at him in disbelief for a second, then abruptly stood and rushed to her room. Within minutes, she returned with a thick stack of documents, a USB drive, and her laptop. She placed everything on the table in front of Mark.
He gently pushed his plate aside, took a sip of water, then flipped open the first file. Sarah watched in silence as he skimmed through the contents with shocking speed.
"This is for warehouse integration, shipment route optimization, and smart freight management," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Your company wants to leverage AI for dynamic scheduling… good. But your current draft doesn't address load-balancing algorithms or predictive delay management. Also, there's nothing about adaptive storage infrastructure."
Sarah frowned. "Wait, how do you even—?"
Mark ignored the question and pulled over her laptop. "You need three main pillars: cost efficiency, scalability, and tech readiness. Start with a case study—maybe integrate Eastbridge's current shortcomings, then show how your system plugs the gaps."
He opened a blank document and began typing. Data flowed from his fingertips like a programmer in the zone, his language technical yet persuasive.
Sarah just stood there, stunned. She didn't understand half of what he was saying, but one thing was certain—Mark wasn't just some guy off the street.
He was something else entirely.
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