CHAPTER 168: MAKING DINNER TOGETHER

Lyle stopped walking. Without a word, he stepped beside a bed of wildflowers blooming near the path, reached down, and plucked a single one — soft and full and white.

He gently took off Ephyra’s hat and pinned the flower into her hair.

Then his voice, low and certain: "You look beautiful, Ephyra."

Ephyra giggled, lifting a hand to touch the flower. "Thank you. You look handsome too." She frowned with theatrical drama. "It’s just such a pity that it’ll wither."

But then her eyes lit up as an idea struck. She reached into her tote and pulled out her phone.

"Wait, I’ll save it forever," she said brightly, already snapping pictures of the flower.

Then she leaned against Lyle and caught a selfie — his surprised expression frozen perfectly next to her beaming grin.

She laughed out loud. But when she leaned forward a bit too quickly, the flower dislodged from her hair and fluttered to the ground.

"Oh—"

She bent down to pick it up, but a bike zoomed past and crunch—its tire rolled right over it, squashing it into a pulpy mess.

Ephyra froze, her mouth falling open.

She stared at the ruined flower. Her face was unreadable—torn between anger and heartbreak.

Behind her, Lyle’s voice came gently: "It’s okay, it seems what you were afraid of didn’t come true. It didn’t wither, Ephyra."

Still staring at the mess, she said bitterly, "And was this better?" Her voice dropped. "I’d rather it withered."

Lyle watched her for a moment, then pointed down the path. "There are more flowers over there. The same kind. Let me pick one for you."

But Ephyra looked toward them and then shook her head. "Don’t worry. I’ll go pick one myself."

She marched over to the flowerbed and leaned down to inspect them, seriously, as if this were a sacred decision. She hovered for nearly a minute before plucking two.

When she turned around, triumphantly holding them in both hands, her smile faded.

A woman — tall, brunette, and poured into a white off-shoulder dress—was leaning just a little too close to Lyle. He sidestepped smoothly, avoiding her touch, but not before she stumbled slightly.

Ephyra’s gaze narrowed.

She returned to Lyle’s side with a too-bright smile. "I got two flowers," she said cheerfully. "One for me... and one for you."

Then, with a flourish, she tucked one into his hair and held out the second. "Here. Put it on me."

Lyle chuckled, stepped closer, and slipped it delicately into her hair, fingers brushing her temple as he did.

"How is it? Does it look good?" she asked, adjusting it slightly before running her fingers through his.

Lyle tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, his eyes soft. "It’s beautiful."

She smiled, brushing her hand over the flower in his hair. "Yours looks good too. I like it."

The woman standing nearby looked murderous.

She glared openly at Ephyra, her eyes flicking between Lyle’s designer outfit, his watch, and the guards now rejoining in the distance. She clearly hadn’t expected competition—especially not this kind.

Finally, the woman stepped forward, plastering on a saccharine smile. "Excuse me, but... who are you? We were having a conversation before you just—"

She didn’t get to finish.

Ephyra turned, looped her arm through Lyle’s, and leaned in, brushing a kiss over his cheek. As she brushed his hair back with exaggerated care, she glanced back at the woman.

"I’m sorry, what were you saying?" Her smile was sharp. "Didn’t catch that."

She looked up at Lyle. "Did you?"

Lyle blinked. "No."

"Oh." Ephyra’s smile widened. She leaned against him with mock concern. "Well, you’ll have to repeat yourself then. Quickly though. You’re wasting our time."

The woman’s expression soured instantly.

She sneered. "Something must be wrong with your ears. You might wanna get them checked before it gets worse."

Ephyra didn’t miss a beat.

"Oh no, nothing wrong at all," she said sweetly. "I just have very selective hearing. I tend not to hear certain types of people. You know—sluts, hoes, bitches, that sort of thing." She sighed dreamily. "Lyle, shall we continue our walk?"

Lyle hummed, sliding his hand over hers and turning to go.

The woman fumed but didn’t get to follow — a bodyguard stepped in her path, expression unreadable but presence very loud.

An hour later, they returned to their car, the sun completely gone. The city sparkled behind them, and Ephyra’s cheeks were stuffed full of snacks, puffed like a chipmunk as she munched happily.

Lyle looked over and just shook his head.

She looked up with a defiant chew.

"What? I earned this."

Lyle only shook his head in reply. Reaching the car, he opened the passenger door for her, helped her in, and closed it gently behind her. Then he walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the car.

The ride back to the hotel was filled with comfortable silence—unlike the other nights. And Ephyra found that she liked it this way. Maybe a little too much. She kept smiling and glancing at Lyle, even while pretending to scroll through her phone.

When they arrived at the hotel suite, Lyle made to walk back to his room, but Ephyra stopped him by gently grabbing his wrist.

"Um... we haven’t had dinner. Let’s have dinner."

Lyle turned to face her, raising a brow. "It’s a little late. Don’t worry, I’m not hungry. But you can request dinner if you want."

"No, it’s not that late. And we only had a couple of snacks," she argued, her tone bright. "I checked the fridge this morning and saw there were a lot of ingredients. Why don’t we just make dinner ourselves? We don’t need to ask the hotel staff, right? What do you think about that?"

She conveniently skipped over the part where Lyle said she should request dinner.

"You don’t need to—"

"I want to. Please? You’ll eat a little, right?"

Lyle stepped closer, nodding with a small smile as he reached up and slipped the tote bag off her shoulder.

"Then go change your clothes. I’ll change mine too."

Ephyra nodded quickly, afraid he might change his mind. Then she darted to her room, peeled off her clothes, showered, and reemerged in a simple oversized T-shirt and shorts.

Skipping into the living room, she found Lyle sitting on the couch, eyes closed, head tilted back in rest. He had changed too — now dressed in soft cotton pants and a plain T-shirt, his usual polished formality traded in for something more relaxed.

Smiling, she walked over and lightly patted his shoulder. His eyes opened to meet hers.

"I’ll go to the kitchen and start cooking," she said softly. "It won’t take long, don’t worry."

But before she could turn away, Lyle stood up too.

She paused mid-step and looked back at him, confused. "What happened? Why are you following me?"

"I’ll be helping you," he said simply.

Ephyra blinked, caught off guard. "What? Helping me?" She shook her head quickly. "No, no, no. There’s no need. Don’t worry, I can handle it. It’s just a simple dinner. You don’t need to help me."

But Lyle didn’t listen. He started walking forward, already committed.

Ephyra hurried to catch up and fell into step beside him. After a moment of hesitation, she asked, "Really? You want to help me? But... do you know how to cook?"

Lyle gave a soft hum in response to her first question, then said, "I don’t need to know how to cook to help you. And didn’t you say it was just a simple meal? I assume there won’t be much to do. I can help. Besides... I do know how to cook. A little."

Ephyra raised a brow. "Oh? I didn’t know that. So, what do you know how to cook?"

"It’s rather vast," he said. "When I was a teenager, I had to rely on myself for meals, so I learned by watching others."

That quiet statement made Ephyra fall silent. Remembering what she knew of Lyle’s childhood, her heart twisted a little.

He looked at her, puzzled by her sudden stillness.

She only smiled softly in reply, then turned forward again as they reached the kitchen.

Ephyra opened the fridge, scanning the ingredients inside. After a moment, she clapped her hands and declared, "Alright. I’ll make a savory egg and rice scramble with a veggie slaw."

And just like that, dinner prep began.

Ephyra directed Lyle on what utensils and ingredients to get ready while she got started.