Chapter 478

Harrison Whitmore possessed an extraordinary talent in the kitchen. Within just sixty minutes, he had transformed fresh ingredients into a mouthwatering feast.

"Lobster thermidor, seared scallops with truffle butter, creamy clam chowder, honey-glazed ribs, roasted vegetables, and bouillabaisse..." Evelyn Carter's eyes sparkled as she listed each dish with growing excitement.

"You're incredible, Harrison! These are literally all my comfort foods."

A warm smile curved his lips as his gaze softened upon her. He stepped closer, gently taking her hand. "Wash up first, darling."

Evelyn practically bounced to the powder room. Returning with freshly cleaned hands, she rummaged through Harrison's marble-top kitchen for silverware, arranging the utensils with playful precision.

He pulled out a velvet-cushioned chair for her. Their knees nearly touched beneath the linen-draped table.

"Be brutally honest with your critiques," he teased, pouring her a glass of sparkling water.

She took deliberate bites of each dish, savoring the complex flavors. "Harrison Whitmore, this is Michelin-star level."

He loaded her plate with second helpings. "Then eat like you mean it."

"Wait!" She threw up her hands. "This masterpiece deserves documentation first."

Dashing to retrieve her phone from the living room, she circled the table like a food stylist, capturing golden-hour shots of the spread.

"Mr. Thornton suggested I chronicle life's beautiful moments," she murmured, opening the Byte app. "This deserves a proper post."

Harrison pulled out his own device. "What's your handle? I'll be your first follower."

"Just search my contact."

His fingers flew across the screen. Within seconds, a notification popped up on Evelyn's phone - @HarrisonWhitmoreOfficial had followed her.

She selected a dreamy filter, paired it with a jazz instrumental, and tapped 'Share.'

"Done! Now, let's destroy this artwork."

Tossing her phone aside, she attacked the lobster with renewed vigor. Laughter bubbled between bites - this was the first home-cooked meal she'd enjoyed in months. Between business trips and late nights at Kingsley Industries, most dinners were sad desk salads.

"Harrison," she sighed between spoonfuls of chowder, "I'd commit crimes for weekly access to this kitchen."

"My door's always open for you, Evelyn."

"You're dangerously generous."

"Less talking, more eating." He slid the ribs closer to her.

Post-dinner, Evelyn's attention snagged on Harrison's climate-controlled wine cellar visible through glass panels. Rows of dust-covered bottles glimmered under recessed lighting.

"Harrison, what's in these mysterious bottles?"

Wiping his hands on a dish towel, he joined her. "Private reserve from my Napa vineyard. Care for a tasting?"

Her fingers traced a 1982 Bordeaux. "This label alone belongs in a museum."

The cork released with a satisfying pop. The first sip danced between tart cherries and velvety chocolate. "Oh. My. God."

Harrison produced two crystal glasses with a magician's flourish.

"Perfect evening for rooftop stargazing," he suggested, nodding toward the spiral staircase.

"Yes!"

The penthouse's private terrace took Evelyn's breath away. Harrison had transformed it into an urban oasis - potted olive trees framed a copper firepit, while a hanging daybed swayed gently in the breeze.

But as Manhattan's skyline twinkled before them, an inexplicable nostalgia tightened Evelyn's chest.

"This view... it feels like déjà vu." Her fingers absentmindedly rubbed her collarbone. "Have we been here before?"