77 - Becca

"It was wonderful. "He said, eating a little more pasta, soiling the corners of his mouth. I was sitting cross-legged, forcing my dress to stretch, admiring it while swallowing a piece of chicken. I took a napkin in front of the coffee table, passing it around Friederich's lips and kissing it quickly, taking it by surprise.

“It was dirty. "I smiled timidly, still eating my chicken. "Before you ask, I didn't learn by reading any cookbook.”

"Did your mother who taught?”

"When I was 16 years old, and I decided to live in Seattle, I had to learn some things by myself. Or I would starve to death. If it weren't for me, even my friends who still live with me would go hungry. " I mocked while sad memories of my old alcoholic father flew in my thoughts. He was the one who had the culinary dowry in the family. "My father also cooks well... Although the food was not exactly something necessary in his life.”

"You took care of yourself for a long time. "He said as if it were a question.

I nodded.