The drizzle that had soaked the village since afternoon turned into a downpour as night began to fall. Cold air seeped through the gaps around the wooden windows of Grandpa Hendra’s old house. In the wet kitchen at the back of the house, Maya stood in front of the stove, busy stirring warm chicken soup for the family dinner. Her mother was up front, helping Grandma Melia tidy the family room.
The sound of heavy, steady footsteps from the side hallway made Maya instinctively turn around.
Caleb sauntered in. He was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing his solid forearms. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he had just finished showering, carrying the soft, pleasant scent of men’s soap that gently cut through the smell of soup spices in the kitchen.
Maya shifted to the side, making room. She assumed Caleb only wanted to get a drink of water from the dispenser in the corner of the kitchen. But after filling his Dad’s glass, Caleb didn’t leave right away. Instead, the French-descended man stopped beside the wooden counter, not far from where Maya stood.
With his tall, imposing frame, Caleb folded his arms across his chest. His hazel-brown eyes studied the pot of soup still sending up wisps of steam, then shifted to Maya, who was beginning to feel awkward under such close scrutiny.
“Your mother?” Caleb asked quietly. His deep voice broke the silence between the patter of rain outside.
“Mom’s up front with Grandma, sir,” Maya answered quickly but politely, without taking her eyes off the ladle in her hand.
Caleb nodded once. “That’s not what I meant.”
Maya blinked in confusion and turned slightly to look at him. “What do you mean, sir?”
“It wasn’t your mother who cooked this,” Caleb replied flatly. His gaze locked onto Maya’s eyes. “It smells different from yesterday’s cooking.”
Maya flinched slightly. Her initial indifference faltered at the man’s attentiveness. “Ah… yes. I’m the one who cooked this. Mom’s helping Grandma tidy up, so I took over.”
Caleb didn’t answer. He merely watched the thin steam rising from the soup before finally picking up his drinking glass from the table. He turned to leave the kitchen. But after taking only two steps, Caleb stopped.
Without turning his whole body, he glanced back over his shoulder. “It needs more salt,” Caleb said curtly.
Before Maya could protest or ask how he knew when he hadn’t even tasted it, Caleb had already disappeared around the bend in the hallway, leaving Maya frozen in place with the ladle still suspended in midair.