The Taste of Love Starts in the Kitchen (GL) - Chapter 10

“Just going out for a walk, getting some fresh air. Nothing serious.”

Zhong Yalei’s brows tensed slightly. She felt worse after asking than she had before—proving that no lie in the world ever truly feels comforting.

“You were too rude to our guests last night. That’s not the kind of attitude I expect from you.”

Song Qinyao’s lips pressed into a tight line. She lowered her head slightly, letting her long hair fall over her face to hide the flicker of emotion in her eyes.

“I’ll call Aunt Zhu later and apologize for what happened.”

“I’ll take care of things with Aunt Zhu. You should call Zhengping.”

Song Qinyao gave a small nod and murmured a soft “mm” in reply, her voice so light it was almost a whisper, completely devoid of emotion.

She still didn’t have the courage to meet her mother’s gaze. Her long lashes cast a shadow over her eyes, like a veil that shielded her feelings.

Zhong Yalei had begun to notice this pattern. Whenever they brought up Lan Zhengping, Qinyao would get vague and avoidant, clearly unwilling to talk. It made her more certain that her daughter’s heart might belong to someone else.

“Lan Zhengping is an excellent man. What is it that you’re not satisfied with?”

“It’s not that I’m unsatisfied. I just don’t particularly like him.”

“If you really have someone you like, then bring him home and let us meet him.”

“If I do bring someone I like home, will you and Dad accept him?”

Zhong Yalei suddenly felt a chill, like an alarm had quietly gone off inside her. A creeping sense of unease washed over her.

Her expression turned wary, her face slightly pale. She realized this conversation couldn’t go any further. She was afraid of what might be uncovered if they kept pulling back the curtain.

She avoided her daughter’s eyes, unable to carry this worry on her own. She decided it was best to wait for her husband to be present before bringing the topic up again.

Just then, the phone rang, breaking the silence. Zhong Yalei glanced at Qinyao before standing up, her expression unreadable. She walked carefully to the window to answer the call.

Realizing her mother might be on the phone for a while, Song Qinyao quietly got up from the couch. She glanced at her mother’s back, gently pressed her hand to her chest, and walked out without making a sound—her steps as light as falling petals.

Song Qinyao walked gracefully into the restaurant. The male waiters lit up like they’d seen a rare gem, dropping what they were doing to greet her enthusiastically, as if the entire place existed just to welcome her.

She usually wasn’t the type to go out alone, but today she sat quietly in a corner of the restaurant, eating by herself. Her expression carried a calm that felt unfamiliar.

The atmosphere in the restaurant was a bit subdued. Song Baili was busily arranging cutlery and wiping down tables, carefully organizing the liquor shelf with her full focus.

From time to time, she’d glance toward the entrance, quietly wondering what kind of person had captured Song Qinyao’s heart.

Her curiosity was stirred—what kind of unique soul could touch that delicate balance between Qinyao’s elegance and pride?

Would it be a gentleman with charm? A calm, wise older man? Or maybe a modest but brilliant artist who shared her interests?

The dishes on Qinyao’s table had already been cleared away. She lifted her coffee cup gracefully, gently blew on it, then took a small sip, savoring its rich aroma.

Beside her, a book lay open on the table. She slowly turned the pages with one hand, the soft rustling blending into the quiet surroundings.

Her every movement was composed and elegant, like drifting clouds—peaceful and unhurried. Eating, sipping coffee, and reading seemed like a natural part of her everyday life.

Time passed. Eventually, she looked up from her book and gazed out the window.

Her side profile was delicate and defined, her features sharp and beautiful. A hint of quiet thought lingered in her eyes, a trace of loneliness flickering across her perfectly sculpted face.

Some man, who seemed to have captured a woman’s anticipation but never showed up, had clearly disappointed her—and in Song Baili’s mind, it reflected poorly on him.

She had been watching Qinyao wait all this time. The longer it went on, the more doubt crept into her mind about her sister’s taste in men.

Love could sometimes cloud even the sharpest minds. Was this just a momentary lapse for Song Qinyao, or something deeper?

Song Baili slowly walked to the coffee machine. She placed the beans into the grinder, adjusted the settings with practiced hands, and once the aroma filled the air, she poured warm milk foam into the brewed coffee, completing the drink with quiet precision.

She walked to Qinyao’s table and gently set the mocha in front of her. Her movements were soft and caring. As she leaned in slightly, her eyes were warm, her smile kind—a silent show of concern.

“What time are you closing tonight?” Qinyao asked.

“Seven. That’s when my shift ends.”

Qinyao took a small sip of the mocha, leaving a faint trace of foam on her lips. She set the cup down and turned to Baili with a sweet smile, like the girl next door—gentle and pure.

Baili reached for a napkin and carefully dabbed away the foam from Qinyao’s lips.

“And you? When are you heading home? Still waiting for someone?”

“Yep. Still waiting,” Qinyao replied.

She glanced at her watch. It had already been over four hours. She hesitated, wondering if she was taking up space needed by other customers.

But seeing there were still plenty of empty seats, she relaxed and continued enjoying her mocha.

“Alright, time to go home,” Baili said.

“Why should I?” Qinyao replied.

Baili frowned, squinting slightly as she stared at her sister.

Qinyao looked like someone lost in a forest of love with no sense of direction. Baili felt an urge to shake some sense into her, to snap her out of it.

“You’ve been sitting here half the day. Don’t you think that’s a little silly?”

“Not silly at all. I could wait till eight or nine. Worst case, I just order more food,” Qinyao said lightly.

Baili frowned even more. She paused, then lowered her eyes, clearly deep in thought. She was searching for the right words, but silence won out.

She knew a woman could afford to lose a little weight—but never her dignity or pride.

Taking a deep breath, she looked up. Her gaze was calm and thoughtful as she said softly:

“Crap is still crap—even if you steam it, it doesn’t turn into a delicacy. If he’s already like this before marriage, I don’t even want to imagine what comes after.”

Seeing Baili mumbling like a soft little kitten was a rare sight—it made her seem oddly adorable.

Qinyao couldn’t help but laugh. She pressed the back of her hand to her lips, trying to hide it. Not even the mocha could compete with the sweetness of her sister’s concern.

“Who do you think I’m waiting for?” she teased.

Baili opened her mouth as if to speak, but when she saw Qinyao’s glistening, smiling lips and long, twinkling eyes, she felt a strange confusion. Her brow furrowed, trying to make sense of the feeling.

Qinyao set her cup down and leaned in slightly. Her lovely face lit up with a smile, the curve of her lips charming and playful. One hand cupped her cheek, adding a soft, girlish touch to her already captivating look.

“You’re so cute today, sis. I kinda like it,” she said sweetly.

Baili’s mouth opened, but no words came. Her face turned bright red, as if set on fire.

So, there was no tardy boyfriend, no love-struck little sister—just an overly analytical big sister reading into things too much.

When Qian Qian sensed a stir at the door, she instinctively turned her head. At the same time, a stunningly beautiful woman looked in her direction. Their eyes met briefly.

In that instant, Qian Qian felt a sudden resistance.

It was like two magnetic forces repelling each other. She didn’t like this woman, and the feeling was clearly mutual.

The woman turned to greet others with a soft, lovely smile—but when her eyes met Qian Qian’s, that warmth vanished, replaced by a sharp, commanding gaze that carried a cold, defiant edge. It was enough to make the air feel tense.

When Zhao Youxuan walked past her, Qian Qian called out softly, motioning him over. She nodded toward the corner where the woman had been speaking with Baili and gestured for him to take a look.

“What’s that woman doing with Song Baili?”

“Just look at her—makes sense. She’s Baili’s younger sister. The whole family’s beautiful.”

Qian Qian’s brows arched in surprise, her expression shifting slightly. She paused, then nodded with new understanding.

It was hard to believe they were sisters. Their looks and vibes were completely different. But when they were together, something about them clicked—there was an oddly magnetic chemistry between them.

With a woman’s intuition, Qian Qian sensed that behind the icy Song Baili stood an even more powerful force of nature—like a snow queen waiting to be discovered. Winning her over was clearly going to be an even tougher challenge.

Song Baili clocked out early, quickly changed clothes, and hurried out of the staff room. As soon as she looked up, she saw Qian Qian walking straight toward her with purpose.

But something was different this time. Qian Qian’s expression was hard to read, and though her face looked calm, her eyes flickered with hesitation and uncertainty. Her lips moved like she wanted to say something, but held back.

Time seemed to slow.

Finally, Qian Qian looked up. Her lashes fluttered gently, like feathers stirred by emotion. Then, in a soft voice, she asked:

“Heading out?”

Baili blinked, then gave a small nod. “Mm,” she replied.

“Right… well… see you tomorrow, then.”

Qian Qian’s smile was faint, almost forced. She waved stiffly, trying to hold on to some sense of normalcy.

“Mm. See you tomorrow.”

As Baili walked past, she glanced back at Qian Qian. Something about the atmosphere felt strange, like an invisible weight hung in the air.

Qian Qian stared blankly in the direction Baili had gone. The smile on her face disappeared. Inside, it felt like there was a hollow space—silent, empty, and impossible to fill.

She quickly pulled out her phone and dialed Li Shao’s number. The ringtone echoed in her ears, each beep making her more anxious. She needed clarity—but also feared what she might hear.

“The number you’ve dialed is currently turned off. Please try again later.”

She hung up. Only silence remained.

Putting her phone back in her pocket, she felt a fleeting sense of relief, but also an ache of quiet disappointment.

She placed both hands on her forehead and closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind. But her thoughts churned like waves, tangled and messy, impossible to unravel.