Iris POV
“What’s your favorite meal?”
I looked up from my coffee and stared at him, looking so handsome and gentlemanly with an apron and cooking utensils surrounding him.
I shrugged. “Anything,”
“No, it can’t be anything,” He persisted. “Everyone has a favorite meal, even if you don’t have a specific food you love most, you’ve got to have some favorites,”
I smiled at him. “Not me. Every food is the same to me.”
He gave me a concerned look. “Why is that?”
A wistful look possessed my face as I recalled my experiences back in the south. “Well all my life I’ve always been served food by old boring men and my parents and they never bothered to tell me the name or ingredients or anything at all. Back then, I ate to survive not for pleasure.”
I hated the look of pity he was giving me b
