Chapter 226: Tastes Like Home (P•S Bonus Chapter)
Seeing the eager expression on Stan’s face, Edith smiled as she set the tray down carefully on the low table in front of the couch, her expression softening with maternal pride.
’It feels just like back then...’
The thought warmed her heart. For a fleeting moment, it was as though the years between had never existed, as though the boy who used to sit at her table and eagerly devour every meal she made had simply come home from play with her daughter again.
When she was done, she said in a soft voice, "Here’s your food, Stan. I hope you like it. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s made with love."
"Thanks Aunt," Stan replied warmly, his voice carrying genuine gratitude. The simple kindness after years of distance settled something deep inside him. He leaned forward, picked up the spoon, and scooped a generous portion of stew over the rice, mixing them thoroughly. The first bite filled his mouth with explosion of flavor, the tangy sweetness of tomatoes balanced by savory depth, tender chicken that melted on the tongue, and perfectly seasoned rice soaking up every drop.
"Hmm~" Stan let out a low, appreciative hum as he chewed slowly, savoring it. "This is really good. Outstanding, actually. Tastes like home... the kind I haven’t had in years, Aunt is being modest saying such delicious food isn’t fancy."
Mia, sitting close beside him on the couch, watched him with pure, unfiltered curiosity and a hint of nervous hope in her warm brown eyes. Her full figure was turned slightly toward him, the spaghetti-strap gown clinging to the generous swell of her breasts as she leaned in, the soft lavender fabric shifting with each breath. A small, pleased smile tugged at her lips.
"I’m the one who cooked it," she said softly, her voice carrying a mix of pride and shy vulnerability. "I remembered you always loved spicy tomato stews when we were kids... so I made it the way Mom taught me, but with a little extra kick just for you."
Stan paused mid-bite, turning to look at her fully. The revelation hit him with unexpected warmth, stirring a fresh wave of affection. "You made this? Mia... it’s perfect. Seriously. Better than anything I’ve had in the fanciest places lately."
He took another bite, nodding with clear satisfaction, his usual composed demeanor softening into something more open and boyish. "It turns out you’re actually a really good cook, just like you used to pretend to be in our childish plays when we were kids. Thank you. This means more than you know."
Mia’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink, her earlier tears now dried but leaving a lingering shine in her eyes. She bit her lip, watching every expression on his face as if memorizing it.
The emotional undercurrent between them thickened, joy at his presence mixing with the shared grief from moments earlier, creating a tender, intimate bubble in the modest living room.
From the side, Mrs. Edith watched them both with a gentle, knowing smile, though her own eyes still held traces of sadness. She settled into an armchair across from them, folding her hands in her lap.
Meanwhile, Mia’s gaze never left him as he continued eating. After a few more bites, she tilted her head, her braided hair slipping over her shoulder. "Stan... are you the one from Ghost Signal and Unfinished Business? The guy everyone’s been talking about lately?"
Stan swallowed, setting the spoon down for a moment. A faint, wry smile touched his lips. He shrugged lightly, almost dismissively, though there was quiet pride beneath it. "Yeah... that’s me. Just some projects that took off more than I expected."
Mia’s eyes widened with genuine excitement, her full breasts rising noticeably with a quick breath as she leaned closer. "You’re really popular now! I saw clips everywhere, the way you handled those scenes, the intensity... I couldn’t believe it was my Stan when I first recognized you. It felt like a dream. You’ve come so far. I’m really happy for you."
Edith nodded warmly from her seat. "We’re both proud. Seeing you succeed after everything you went through... it warms an old woman’s heart. You deserve it, Stan."
Stan chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare show of modesty. The praise felt good, but it also highlighted the contrast with their modest home and the heavy losses they’d all endured. "It’s just work. Keeps me busy. But sitting here, eating food you made..." He glanced at Mia, his voice lowering with sincerity, "this feels more real than any spotlight. I missed this, missed you two. More than I realized."
Mia’s hand found his arm, squeezing gently. Her touch lingered, warm and seeking. Fresh emotion shimmered in her eyes again, a blend of happiness, lingering sorrow for her father, and deep relief at his return. "We missed you too. Every day. I used to tell Dad stories about you... how you’d always protect me from the ’monsters’ in the backyard." Her voice cracked slightly at the mention of her father, but she pushed through with a watery smile. "Now you’re here, all grown and successful... it’s like some of the light came back."
Stan covered her hand with his own, his thumb brushing soothingly over her knuckles. The closeness brought awareness of her body, the soft press of her thigh against his, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the way her curves seemed to invite comfort and more. "I’m here now, Mia. No more disappearing. We’ll make up for the lost time... slowly. Your dad would be proud of the woman you’ve become, strong, kind, and still cooking better than anyone."
Edith wiped at her eyes discreetly, her voice warm but thick. "Eat up, Stan. There’s plenty more. And Mia, stop staring at him like he might vanish, give the boy some room to enjoy his meal."
Mia laughed softly through lingering tears, nudging Stan playfully while staying close. "Sorry... I just can’t believe he’s really here. The food’s getting cold though, keep eating. I want to hear everything about what you’ve been doing."
Stan picked up the spoon again, the heavy emotions in the room easing into something warmer, more hopeful. The stew tasted even better with their shared presence, each bite a small bridge over nine long years.
