True to his word, twenty minutes later Caleb called me to the kitchen. I'd half-expected a hastily assembled sandwich, maybe soup from a can. Instead, I found the table set with actual place settings, a steaming bowl of what looked like homemade soup in the center.
"What is this?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"Immune-boosting soup," he said, pulling out a chair for me. "Turmeric, ginger, garlic, and about half a dozen vegetables."
I stared at him, nonplussed. "You made this? From scratch?"
"Don't look so shocked." He ladled soup into my bowl. "I do know my way around a kitchen."
"Since when?"
"Since I lived alone and got tired of takeout." He sat across from me. "My mother used to make this whenever I was sick or stressed."
The thought of Caleb West recreating his mother's recipe—f
