Chapter 47
47:
A relaxed grin spread across Morse’s face. “Dylan and I just can’t handle food that’s too spicy.”
Christina turned to Dylan, her tone light and easy. “Let’s cut back on the chilies, then. I’ve been a little under the weather lately—can’t handle anything too fiery.”
She tossed out the excuse with a small smile, smoothing things over without making a fuss.
Dylan simply nodded in agreement. “Alright.”
A short while later, platters of steaming dishes filled the table, the air fragrant with spices and simmered broth.
Morse, who’d been eyeing the spicy beef stew for ages, finally gave in to temptation. The aroma had been torturing him for minutes, each inhale making his stomach rumble louder. At last, he loaded his plate, unable to hide his eagerness. The first bite of beef practically melted in his mouth, tender and bursting with rich, balanced flavor. Every mouthful confirmed it—Dylan’s cooking belonged in a league of its own.
Just as Morse reached for a second helping, he slapped his forehead. “Oh, wait! I forgot to take any pictures!”
He scrambled for his phone, snapping photos from every angle with the enthusiasm of a food blogger on deadline. But the lure of the food was too much. Instead of uploading the photos right away, he put the phone aside and dove right back in.
Christina glanced up, a gentle curiosity in her eyes. “How’s the spice level? Is it alright for you?”
“It’s amazing,” Morse muttered, barely pausing between bites as he shoveled more food onto his plate.
His gold-rimmed glasses slid dangerously close to the tip of his nose, but he ignored them, laser-focused on devouring every flavorful bite.
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Dylan sat across from him, posture straight and face unreadable. The heat from the chilies clearly hit him harder than he let on, but he didn’t flinch. Maintaining a steady tone, he simply said, “It’s fine.”
Morse was on the verge of losing it—he had to bite back a laugh at the sight of Dylan toughing it out for Christina’s sake. Honestly, watching Dylan power through the spice just to impress her was something else.
One thing was for sure. Christina wasn’t just anyone to Dylan.
Morse could see it clear as day—Dylan was already falling for Christina. But whether that would lead to anything real… well, that was anyone’s guess. It all came down to whether Dylan could step up.
For a moment, the table quieted, filled only with the gentle clinking of cutlery and the warm, savory scents wafting between them. Suddenly, Morse couldn’t help himself.
“So, Miss Jones, what do you think of Dylan? Ever thought about being with him?” he blurted, a teasing spark lighting his eyes.
The question hit Christina mid-bite. She coughed violently, scrambling for a napkin as she tried to recover her composure.
Dylan’s eyes sharpened, and he quickly passed her a napkin, his glare pinning Morse with a silent warning.
Morse sprang from his seat, hands raised in apology. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, Miss Jones. Are you alright?”
Christina waved him off between coughs, her face flushing. “I’m fine,” she replied, forcing a quick smile. “I just ate too fast. And the chili caught me off guard.”
There was no way she’d admit that Morse’s ambush of a question had been the real culprit.
“My bad, just kidding around,” Morse stated, flashing a sheepish grin as he scratched the back of his neck.
Christina returned a polite smile. “Don’t worry, I understand.”
“But honestly, Dylan’s the real deal,” Morse added, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Mr. Scott is quite remarkable,” Christina replied with a lilting laugh. “I can see why he’d attract plenty of admirers.”
Morse leaned closer, his gaze suddenly shrewd. “What about you, though?”
“Me?” Christina turned to glance at Dylan, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “If Mr. Scott dropped to one knee and proposed right now, I’d have to say yes on the spot.”
Morse seized the moment with dramatic flair. “Hear that, Dylan? Now’s your chance! No ring? Use your property deed! The Scott family estate will work just fine—”
Dylan cut him off, his tone like ice. “Enough. Stop dragging everyone into your jokes. It’s getting awkward.”
Dylan saw right through Christina’s breezy answer. The more casually she brushed it off, the clearer it was that she had no real interest.
Morse snorted, eyebrows raised. “Awkward? Who’s awkward?” He glanced at Christina, searching her face. “Are you?”
Christina just smiled, a relaxed warmth in her eyes. “Not at all. We’re just goofing around.”
“See? Exactly!” Morse grinned, undeterred. “I’m just keeping the mood light.”
Morse inwardly exhaled. Despite his best efforts to spice things up, Dylan didn’t seize the moment.
The meal soon wrapped up, and Morse pushed his empty plate away, sinking back in his chair with a contented sigh, stuffed to the brim.
Only after scraping his plate clean did he finally upload the photos he’d taken earlier, proudly captioning them, “This is what top-tier indulgence looks like. Luckiest day ever!”
Within moments, his post exploded with likes and comments.
Ralphy was the fastest to comment. “It’s just a few homemade dishes. What’s so special about that? I’m at Morfort Restaurant right now! Just wait. I’ll post my photos and show you what real fine dining is!”
Morse fired back, oozing smug satisfaction. “Morfort Restaurant? Please. I just had a private meal cooked by Dylan himself. Beat that.”
Meanwhile, over at Morfort Restaurant, Ralphy was still waiting on his order when Morse’s reply popped up on his screen. He nearly dropped his phone in shock. What the hell? Dylan actually cooked?
Without hesitation, Ralphy launched a video call, urgency lacing his tone. “Wait—are you actually at Dylan’s place right now?”
“Of course,” Morse replied, sinking back into his chair with a smug grin.
He slid his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, the picture of self-satisfaction.
“I’m coming over right now!” Ralphy exclaimed, barely pausing to snatch up his suit jacket as he bolted from his seat.
In that moment, the extravagant meal he’d ordered at Morfort Restaurant was completely forgotten. All he could think about was the chance to taste Dylan’s legendary home cooking. Chloe’s mention of the onion soup still echoed in his mind—he’d missed out, and the regret stung. This time, he refused to let the opportunity slip away.
“There’s really no need. We finished everything already,” Morse declared, his grin stretching even wider.
Ralphy paused dead, shooting daggers at Morse via the video call.
Unable to help himself, Morse burst out laughing. “You’re supposed to be the heir to the Graham family. Try showcasing more poise like most expected from a future family lead.”
Ralphy bristled. “You’ve got a lot of nerve! Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
Morse’s laughter only grew, while Ralphy clenched his jaw in frustration.
“Morse, I swear, I’ll get you back for this!” Ralphy growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled fury.
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