No one had ever asked me that before. It had always been just an accepted truth. But Griffin, he always looked just a little deeper than the rest of the world. I toyed with the edge of my napkin. I didn’t share a lot of my childhood with anyone. Embarrassment usually held me back. But some pull in me wanted to share the truth of my why with Griffin.

“Growing up, if I wanted food that didn’t come from a fast-food dollar menu or a Cup of Noodles, I had to make it myself. Sometimes, my parents forgot to feed us altogether. It just became my thing. I started doing the grocery shopping and cooking for myself and the tiny terrors. Eventually, Mr. Walters gave me a job and would always send me home with produce that was about to go bad in a couple of days. It became kind of a game. What could I make with what I had?”

I glanced out at Will, Ava, and Mia, my chest warming. “I love being able to take care of them in that way. And it just grew from there. It still feels like a game in a lot of ways. Figuring out which unexpected flavors complement each other. I just wish I knew more.”

“What do you mean?” Griffin asked. “Your cooking is amazing. Some of the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve eaten at Michelin-starred restaurants.”

His praise swept over me in a wave of warmth. “I think you’re biased because you’re friends with the cook.”

Griffin scoffed. “I’m a tough grader when it comes to my stomach. I don’t care who the chef is.”

I chuckled. “Good to know.”

“So, what is it that you want to learn?”

I took in the array of dishes in front of us and imagined all the possibilities. “It’s endless, really. I’m completely self-taught, so it’s almost like I don’t know what I don’t know. I’d love to learn from a teacher who could critique my technique. I’d love to learn different cuisines. My dream is to go on a trip around the world and take cooking classes along the way. Learn the quintessential dishes of each place I went.”

“That would be quite the experience.”

“From the guy who’s terrified to turn on his oven.”

He tossed his napkin at me. “Hey, now. I reheat the food you make me, and sometimes I do that in the oven.”

I held up both hands in surrender. “What was I thinking? You’re a master chef.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you acknowledging my reheating prowess.”