Chapter 28: Grandma’s dish
Ash groaned as he forced his eyes open, his head pounding as though drums echoed inside his skull. The bitter taste of last night’s alcohol lingered on his tongue. He blinked, disoriented, staring at the familiar ceiling of his room.
How...how did I get here? The last thing he remembered was laughing too hard, clinking bottles with Naomi and Martin, then drinking more than he should have.
Turning his head slowly, he noticed a glass of water and a small pill sitting neatly on the nightstand. A folded note rested beside them.
With shaky fingers, Ash picked it up.
"For the headache. Rest well."
His eyes lingered on the handwriting. A sharp tug of recognition stirred in his chest. This handwriting...it feels familiar.
His throat tightened. Could it be him? No...impossible.
Quickly, he snatched up his phone and typed a message to Martin:
Ash: Hey, who took me home last night?"
A reply buzzed in seconds.
Martin: Alpha Adrian.
Ash froze, the phone slipping slightly from his grip. His heart hammered harder than his hangover.
Ash swallowed the pill in one gulp, chasing it down with water before dragging himself upright. The bitterness lingered on his tongue, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness in his chest. Adrian...he was here last night?
Without wasting a moment, he hurried to Adrian’s room. Empty. His pulse quickened. Rushing downstairs, he entered the dining where his mother was settling breakfast.
She looked up, noticing his hurried steps. "Who are you looking for?" she asked.
Ash hesitated. "I..." he murmured, unable to explain.
Her eyes softened knowingly. "If you’re looking for Adrian, he’s already gone to work. He didn’t even stay for breakfast. Now, sit."
A moment later, Adrian’s father joined them at the table. "Good morning," he greeted warmly then turned to Ash. "By the way, son, today you’ll be visiting your grandmother. I’ve already arranged some provisions for her. Make sure you deliver them, and tell her I’ll come see her soon."
Ash nodded.
They began to serve themselves. Ash reached toward the dish of sausages, fingers closing around the serving fork. But as he hovered over the food, his mind betrayed him.
The memory surged; Adrian’s lips, the heat, the unshakable intimacy of that night. His chest tightened, his throat dry.
The sausages slipped back into the dish with a soft clink. Ash froze, staring at it heavily, then let his hand retreat. Across the table, Adrian’s chair stood empty, yet it felt unbearably present.
He took bread and eggs instead, moving them onto his plate. But he didn’t eat. His fork merely pushed at the food, nudging it idly, as if his appetite had vanished with his thoughts.
His mother’s watchful gaze lingered. "It seems even today," she remarked softly, "You’re not in the mood for sausages."
Ash lowered his head further, eyes locked on the untouched food, his thoughts miles away.
...
At his grandmother’s house, Ash placed the bags of food and clothes on the small wooden table. His grandmother’s and Uncle Aster hurried over, their faces bright with anticipation.
They began pulling the clothes out of the bag, examining each piece one by one with delight. Uncle Aster lifted a neatly folded shirt, running his fingers over the fine fabric.
"Alpha Lucien is truly kind-hearted," he said in awe. "I’ve never worn brand clothes in my whole life...and now look at this." His voice carried both disbelief and joy as he pressed the shirt against himself.
Meanwhile, his grandmother reached into the food bag and carefully pulled out a small box of fresh blueberries. Her eyes softened, filled with gratitude.
"These are so expensive," she said warmly. "They help keep my blood sugar in check. Your stepfather is really thoughtful to send me something like this; he truly cares about my health."
Uncle Aster chuckled, holding the shirt up against himself. His eyes flicked toward Ash, his words laced with a bite.
"Your stepfather and Alpha Lucien...they’re truly kindhearted. Not unlike your stepbrother, who can never do anything like this to us.""
His grandmother’s expression tightened, and she quickly cut him off. "Aster, stop it," she said firmly.
Ash’s phone buzzed sharply in his pocket, startling him. He pulled it out and frowned, his account balance had just shot up with a massive transfer.
Another message followed almost immediately: That’s for paying for your grandmother’s dish, which we broke.
Ash’s mouth fell open. "What the hell...all this money? For a dish?"
When he finally looked up, his grandmother and Uncle Aster were both staring at him, puzzled.
Clearing his throat, he muttered, "Granny...aah...your dish...it broke."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Broke? That dish wasn’t just porcelain, boy; it was history. Maybe I can forgive you...but only if you narrate to me how it broke. Convince me."
Ash froze. His mind betrayed him at once, replaying the memory of him perched on the cold kitchen counter, Adrian standing close, their mouth colliding in a heated kiss. Heat surged up his neck, painting his cheeks crimson.
"I-It just...slipped," he croaked.
Uncle Aster snorted. "Slipped? Onto the ceiling?"
Granny smacked Aster’s arm, but her gaze never left Ash. With a deep sigh, she shook her head. "That dish wasn’t just any dish. Your grandfather gave it to me as a Valentine’s gift. And now, shattered!"
Ash’s jaw dropped. "Grandma...that old?"
She placed a trembling hand dramatically on her chest. "Older than you, and still shining. Stronger than most marriages, too. And now you’ve destroyed it."
Uncle Aster leaned back, chuckling. "Careful, Ash. That dish probably had more romance than you ever will."
Ash wanted the floor to swallow him whole. If only they knew the real story...
His grandmother’s suddenly clutched her chest, wobbling dramatically as if about to faint. "Ahh...my poor Valentine’s dish!"
Ash jumped up. "Grandma, please don’t faint! Look!" He quickly held out his phone, showing the bank transfer. "I’m paying it back!"
Both his grandmother and Uncle Aster stared at him, mouths slightly open, eyes wide; questions written all over their faces.
Ash’s mind raced. He could almost hear their thoughts: Where on earth did he get that much money?
He forced a small shrug and smiled awkwardly. "Uh...a little...side job? Did some...freelance work?"
Uncle Aster’s eyebrows shot up. "Freelance work? For that much?"
Ash nodded furiously. "Yes! Totally legal...and, uh...very profitable." He gave them a wink that was meant to be charming but probably suspicious.
Adrian...if you knew I was taking the blame...Ash thought, you’d probably laugh and call me crazy.
Grandmother, still clutching her chest, muttered, "Hmph...a profitable grandson. I see..."
Ash breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Close call...just don’t ask any more questions.
Ash glanced at his wristwatch, checking the time.
Uncle Aster’s eyes widened, catching the glint of metal. He quickly grabbed Ash’s hand, pulling it closer to examine. "Wait, this...this is pure silver! Do you know even our entire household couldn’t afford a piece like this?" His voice rose, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Ash froze, lips parting, but no words came out.
Aster narrowed his eyes, leaning in suspiciously. "Don’t tell me this was from freelance work too..."
Ash stayed quiet, avoiding his gaze. Then Aster smirked, his voice turning into a playful tease. "Tell me the truth...you haven’t secretly found yourself a sugar daddy, have you?"
Ash groaned, yanking his hand free and rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh.
Uncle Aster burst out laughing, clapping his knee. "Ha! Look at that face; if it’s not true, why so red?"
Ash covered his forehead with his palm. Why do I even visit this house...
Ash stood, grabbing his bag. "Grandma...is there mashed turnip?"
Her eyes twinkled. "Of course! How could I forget your favorite? I was just about to serve it for you."
Ash shook his head quickly. "I’ll be late if I sit down now."
Grandmother sighed, but smiled. "Alright, then. I’ll pack some for you." She disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with the dish carefully wrapped.
Ash bent down and kissed his grandmother’s wrinkled forehead in farewell. "Goodbye, Grandma."
She smiled warmly, patting his shoulder. "Be careful on your way, Bunny."
As Ash turned toward the door, Uncle Aster leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Careful with that dish, boy. Don’t break it, who knows what century-long love story it might be hiding inside!"
He leaned closer, eyes twinkling. "And don’t keep that sugar daddy all to yourself next time; bring him along!"
Ash nearly stumbled on the doorstep, exclaiming, "Uncle!"
Grandmother swatted Aster’s arm, laughing through her mock indignation. "Aster! Enough teasing, now!"
...
Ash sat in the backseat, cradling the carefully wrapped dish in his hands. A small smile curved his lips as he thought, Adrian will enjoy my grandmother’s mashed turnips again...
Bravin, driving, caught the movement in the rearview mirror. He tilted his head slightly, curious, and muttered to himself, why is Young Master smiling just by looking at a dish?
Ash glanced up, catching Bravin’s gaze in the mirror, and shrugged innocently, hiding the flush creeping onto his cheeks.