Page 26 of Rescue

“Just in case,” I explain. “Clean hands make great cooks.”

She nods sagely, clearly storing this nugget of wisdom for later use. By the time I’ve washed up, the pasta’s ready to be plated.

“Alright, Chief Stirrer,” I say, “your work here is done.”

Layla sets the spoon down carefully and leans back, her face a mixture of pride and delight. “We make a good team, don’t we, Doctor Jon?”

“We do,” I admit, pulling the steaming strands of fettuccini from the pot and stirring them through the sauce. The fresh pasta is glossy and perfect, and I can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

“Now for the finishing touch,” I say, spooning generous portions of the ragù over the pasta. The rich, meaty sauce glistens under the light, filling the room with its mouth-watering aroma.

Layla sniffs the air dramatically, a big smile spreading across her face. “Mum’s going to love this! Can I go tell her it’s ready?”

“Go for it,” I say, watching as she bounds out of the kitchen, her excited voice ringing out.

“Mum! Doctor Jon says dinner’s ready, and it smells amazing!”

I smile to myself, wiping my hands on a tea towel. The kitchen looks like a war zone, but Layla’s joy makes every bit of the mess worth it. What would have stressed me out a few weeks ago just makes me smile nowadays. I just have to hope Abigail thinks the same when she sees—and tastes—the results.

Chapter 9

Abigail

The smell of rich,meaty ragù draws me to the kitchen, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greets me when I push open the door. It’s chaos. Flour dusts the countertops, streaks the floor, and even forms faint handprints on the fridge. Used bowls and utensils are scattered everywhere, and there’s a wooden chair wedged near the stove where Layla clearly stood to stir something.

But then I spot Layla’s beaming face, her eyes dancing with excitement, and Jon’s small, proud smile as he sets down the final plate. My annoyance dissolves instantly. Mess or not, the joy radiating from them makes my heart feel full.

“Well,” I say, leaning on the doorframe with mock seriousness. “This kitchen looks like it’s been hit by a tornado, but I suppose if the food’s as good as it smells, I can overlook it.”

Layla claps her hands. “Mum, you’re going to love it! Doctor Jon and I made it all ourselves!”

Jon’s gaze flicks up to meet mine, a faint blush creeping along his cheeks. “She was a very enthusiastic sous chef,” he says, his tone laced with dry humour.

I smile warmly at both of them. “I can see that. Shall we taste this masterpiece, then?”

We settle at the table, and I take a bite of the pasta. It’s incredible—perfectly tender fettuccine paired with the most flavourful ragù I’ve had in years. “Jon, this is amazing,” I say, genuinely impressed. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Layla perks up between bites, her fork wobbling dangerously in her small hand. “He’s the best cook, Mum! And I helped! I stirred the sauce and made the pasta.”

“You did an excellent job,” I say, ruffling her hair. “Both of you.”

Jon shifts slightly, looking pleased but also a touch bashful. “It’s nothing fancy,” he says, brushing off the compliment.

“Fancy or not, it’s delicious,” I insist. “I might just hire you both as my new chefs.”

Layla giggles, a piece of pasta dangling from her fork. “Doctor Jon, you can’t leave now! Mum needs you to cook every night.”

Jon chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I think your mum does just fine on her own.”

Layla keeps us entertained throughout dinner, chattering animatedly about her day at school. She tells us about her teacher, her best friend Lily, and a boy named Ethan who got his shoelaces stuck in the radiator. Jon listens with an amused expression, no more Mr Grumpy.

When the plates are empty, Layla leans back in her chair, sighing dramatically. “That was the best dinner ever.”

“Glad you liked it,” Jon says, smirking.

“You’d better go run your bath,” I tell Layla gently, standing to collect the dishes. “And don’t forget to actually use soap this time.”

Layla huffs but obeys, skipping out of the kitchen while humming a little tune.

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