I eat another spoonful before giving him my feedback. "This is very good."
He picks up his own spoon. "I'm glad you like it."
I want to say more, but I just can't help but keep eating. I almost want to take that bowl in my hands and pour that gorgeous broth down my throat. Even without doing so, I finish the dish sooner than I thought, which is a tad disappointing because I feel like I could eat ten more bowls. It's that good.
"I don't think I've ever eaten anything quite like that," I say as I dab my lips with the table napkin. "Is this what you eat all the time?"
"Not all the time," Ethan answers. "But it's one of my favorites. The chef who designed this, he was serving his food in a small hut when I first met him. Now he has an empire not just all over Asia but all over Europe, too."
"And he's here?" I ask with arched eyebrows.
"No. He hates flying. But the chef who cooked for us this evening trained under him, among many others. He's very skillful."
I put my hands up. "No need to convince me. If the next dish is as good as this, I'll be very happy."
Ethan grins. "I think you will be."
Moments later, the second course arrives - a pair of pot stickers with a bit of salad on the side and a dark dipping sauce. The moment I see it, my chest tightens. I grip it as I draw a deep breath.
"Is something wrong?" Ethan asks me.
I shake my head but fail to conceal my emotions. "It's just that this is one of the things my mom used to make. She liked working with flour, so she made a lot of pasta, pies, dumplings."
And pot stickers were her go-to dish when she didn't have a lot of time to cook, which happened quite often when she started working again. No matter how tired she was, she would always cook for Dad and me, and no matter how quickly she made the pot stickers, they always tasted delicious.
"God, I miss her," I whisper as I fight back tears.
To my surprise, Ethan places his hand over mine.
"I'm sorry."
Two words, and yet the kindness in them frees the tears from the corners of my eyes. I lift my hand to wipe them away.
"Thank you. And I'm so sorry I'm acting like a mess."
What am I doing? Didn't I say I was going to remain composed in front of him? He must think I'm a big baby now.
"It's fine," Ethan says.
"No, it's not," I tell him as I gather my emotions. "We're eating and I'm ruining your appetite."
"You're not," he assures me. "Believe me, I'm still hungry."
"Then shall we eat?"
I grab the pair of chopsticks above the plate and pick up one of the pot stickers. I take a bite and the flavors from the juicy pork filling explode on my tongue.
I clasp a hand over my mouth. "Oh my God."
"As good as your mother's?" Ethan asks before eating a whole pot sticker.
"Almost," I answer before finishing the other half of mine. "But this is still damned good."
"It is," Ethan agrees.
We eat our other dumpling in silence, then reach for our glasses of wine. The acidity in the Sauvignon Blanc washes away the lingering flavor of chili in my mouth.
On to the next course - crispy duck breast with a creamy vegetable puree. This one looks more like a Western dish but still has the comforting Asian flavors in the perfectly cooked duck. Yum.
"Duck was my mother's favorite food," Ethan tells me.
My eyebrows go up. "Really?"
He nods.
I pause in the middle of cutting another piece of duck. Wait a second. He said "was," right?
"My mother's gone, too," Ethan says. "She died when I was twelve."
Twelve? And here I thought I lost my mother too early.
I put my utensils down. "I'm sorry to hear that."
I somehow knew Mrs. Hawthorne was no longer around, but I never thought she left Ethan when he was still so young.
"How old were you when your mother passed away?" he asks.
"It happened just three years ago," I answer as I pick up my knife. "And my father died two years before that."
"So it's just you now?"
I nod.
"No siblings?"
I shake my head.
"No roommate?"
I shake my head again. "I've heard too many roommate horror stories."
"What about a cat or a dog?"
"I used to have a dog," I say. "But I don't have time to take care of one now. I'd just feel sorry for it. I was thinking of getting a cat one time, but I guess I didn't have the time for it, either."
"I see. What about - ?"
"A plant?" I finish the sentence for him. "I have some succulents in my bathroom and a spider plant on my balcony."
"I was going to say boyfriend," Ethan says.
"Oh." I let my fork linger between my lips. "Nope. I don't have one."
I did consider lying for a moment there, but what's the point?
"Ever had one?" Ethan asks.
I look at him. Why is he so curious about my personal life all of a sudden?
"No, don't answer that," he says. "Just answer me this. Is it my fault you don't have a boyfriend right now?"
I nearly choke on the piece of duck inside my mouth. Quickly, I reach for my glass of wine and take a gulp. The food goes down my throat but I can still feel a lump in it. I can feel the fire in my cheeks. Does Ethan know, after all, that I have a huge crush on him?
"I mean, am I giving you too much work?"
I blink. Oh, that's what he meant. I blush even harder out of embarrassment.
Oh, Stella, what were you thinking?
"Am I?" Ethan asks again.
I shake my head firmly. "No. It's not your fault. My job is what it is. And I chose it. And I love it."
He gives me a puzzled look. "You do?"
I nod. "I mean, sure, it's a lot to handle sometimes, but the pay is good, especially with the raise you just gave me, which I'm grateful for, by the way."
"You're welcome."
"And there are perks like this right now, this flight on this amazing plane and this... beautiful meal." I gesture towards my empty plate.
"And the meal's not over yet," Ethan tells me. "There's still dessert."
I smile. "My favorite."
"What are you hoping it is?" he asks.
"Anything sweet," I answer. "I need that sugar to give me heaps of energy so I can finish a lot more work before we get to Switzerland."
Chapter Four
Ethan
I guess those heaps of energy ran out.
I turn off the light above Stella's seat and press the button to push it back a bit further so she'll be more comfortable. She stirs but remains asleep. I drape the fleece blanket over her, wrapping it around her shoulders. She gives off a sound of contentment like the purring of a cat. It makes me smile, but at the same time I feel a sliver of anxiety as I stare at her sleeping face.
Stella, what am I going to do with you?
I've never met a woman who could make me feel so many emotions all at once. Earlier, while she was working, I couldn't help but admire her for working so hard. Her fingers were punching the keyboard like crazy, her eyes boring holes into her screen. It made me feel almost ashamed because it felt like she was working harder than I was. But it also inspired me to keep working hard myself. At the same time, I wanted to wrench her laptop away from her and tell her to stop working so we could continue with the conversation we had over dinner.