NovelEnglishJoyce took a nap after the spa.
When | woke up, it was noon.
Luther was not around, she sat up from the bed and suddenly felt a little lost, and then she shook her head off.
How can you expect him to be by her side all the time? The brain is really burnt out.
A thermos was thoughtfully placed by the bed, and she took a few sips to moisten her throat.
Putting on a coat, she went out of the room and went to the first floor.
I didn't eat much for breakfast and felt a little hungry. It was almost noon, and Ivy was nowhere to be seen, and no lunch was
prepared?
A little confused, she walked into the kitchen only to find Luther standing at the guide table, his back turned to the sink, and
wondering what he was doing.
"What are you doing in the kitchen?"
She made a sudden sound behind her back, and Luther, who had been concentrating, was startled when the sharp blade cut across
his index finger, cutting through a gash.
He frowned and hurriedly dropped the knife in his hand.
Joyce walked over to him and found that he had cut his finger and blood was coming out.
She exclaimed, " my God, you cut your finger! What are you doing in the kitchen and where's Ivy?"
With a low curse, she hurriedly retrieved the medical kit from the living room.
Step forward, grab his hand and rinse it off first against the faucet.
"lvy, | sent her to buy sturgeon, the market is a bit far, so she's not back yet." He drew back his hand, "It's okay, just a little
scratch. It's not a deep cut."
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtJoyce gave him a slight glare and yanked his hand over, "Even a small injury needs to be taken care of."
After that, she took out antiseptic water, dipped a cotton swab into it and wiped his wound, then applied iodine, and finally
bandaged a band-aid for him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She grumbled and complained, "Nothing to do."
"Making you lunch." He pointed to a corner of the kitchen where something seemed to be cooking in a pot, "Don't you smell it?"
Joyce sniffed, there was a whiff of vegetable fragrance, she was sick, so her sense of smell was not too sharp, when she walked in
before, she did not notice.
"It's already stewed, you just woke up, you should be hungry, I'll serve you a bowl." He was just about to walk over.
Joyce pushed him away.
She walked to the pot, open, a pot of color and flavor of porridge. Just looking at it is appetizing.
The most critical thing is that absolutely down hard work.
Her favorite swordfish meat, in fact, this kind of fish has a lot of thorns, surprisingly able to remove all the thorns, as well as wild
duck meat, ham, afraid of the taste is too old, almost cut into fine julienne, bird's nest hair picked cleanly, without a single defect.
The diced vegetables are neatly and carefully cut. Don't underestimate how much thought goes into a simple pot of porridge.
It doesn't look like Ivy's handwriting, because Ivy is not usually this meticulous.
She craned her head suspiciously to look at Luther.
"You did this?"
"Hmm. You are sick, | see you barely eat anything in the morning, | thought you must have no appetite, so made a simple porridge.
| was going to make a few more dishes, but the missing ingredients Ivy ingredients haven't been bought back yet." He pointed to
the stove top, just now when he prepared the ingredients, cut to the hand.
Simple? There's nothing simple about it, Joyce thought.
"That's enough. No need to cook, there's enough to eat."
She took a bowl, a white porcelain spoon and scratched through the thick porridge, and scooped a bowl for herself, and a bowl for
him at the stime.
The aroma was tantalizing, and sitting at the table, she took a bite.
The delicate and lubricious taste, even if there is no appetite, you can still taste the fresh taste. Suddenly, her heart was clogged
with unspoken feelings gradually diffused.
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