Two Faced Lover - Chapter 14

14: Grapes
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‎The most dreaded response when grocery shopping and cooking for someone is “Whatever” or “Anything’s fine”—and Meng Xuran was precisely that type of person. Perhaps provoked by Bo Mingyan’s earlier skepticism, whenever asked what she wanted to eat, she would only say, “I’m not picky.”
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‎Since she claimed not to be picky, Bo Mingyan stopped overthinking it and simply cooked according to her own tastes.
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‎For the next two weeks, whenever she woke up early and had the energy, Bo Mingyan continued preparing lunch and dinner for Meng Xuran.
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‎But as the number of culinary “misfires” increased, Meng Xuran’s feedback became increasingly candid.
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‎Second misfire:
‎[Difficult to Handle: The tomato and egg dish was good, but the cabbage was a bit undercooked.]
‎According to Lu Shan’s reconnaissance report, that day, the cabbage stems had been poked full of holes by the little princess before she reluctantly ate them.
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‎Third misfire:
‎[Difficult to Handle: I thought the cucumber was supposed to be a cold dish.]
‎That day, Hu Jingjing whispered to Bo Mingyan that, based on Lu Shan’s observations, Meng Xuran’s expression while eating the stir-fried cucumber was comparable to eating bitter melon.
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‎Fourth misfire:
‎[Difficult to Handle: This dish is pretty good—just better without carrots.]
‎Rumor had it that someone spent over half an hour picking out the carrot cubes.
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‎Fifth misfire:
‎In the morning, Bo Mingyan posted on social media:
‎[When I’m rich, I’m planting cilantro all over the world.]
‎That night, someone else posted:
‎[Ginger is the spy of all dishes. When I’m rich, I’m eradicating cilantro.]
‎Since neither of them had restricted their comment sections, the office began buzzing with rumors that Little Director Meng was publicly clashing with Bo Mingyan—proof that their relationship was terrible.
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‎Sixth misfire:
‎[Difficult to Handle: The dishes were fine, but the strawberries were too sour.]
‎That day, the entire design department witnessed Director Meng making meme-worthy faces from the sour fruit.
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‎Seventh misfire:
‎[Difficult to Handle: I want to eat you.]
‎It was a voice message, delivered in a pitiful tone.
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‎Bo Mingyan listened with headphones, but Meng Xuran hadn’t whispered it.
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‎Thus, two new rumors spread through the company:
‎1. Little Director Meng was on a diet, deprived of meat for so long that she was going insane with craving.
‎2. Little Director Meng had angered her mother, who refused to give her any meat, reducing her to tears of longing.
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‎”…”
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‎Anyone else would’ve snapped, “If you’re so picky, do it yourself!” But Bo Mingyan had the patience of a saint, responding each time with the same monotone, “Oh, got it.”
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‎That evening, Bo Mingyan returned home, opening the door to find a pile of delivery packaging in the entryway, labels all scratched out—probably set aside to be thrown out the next morning.
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‎The living room was brightly lit, and Meng Xuran’s voice drifted over, neither near nor far.
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‎”Xiao Manman, did you miss me today~?”
‎”Let me see if Xiao Man was well-behaved today.”
‎”Wow, you even know how to turn on the robot vacuum! You’re amazing, Xiao Man!”
‎”Xiao Man, no—don’t bite me… Licking is fine.”
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‎Bo Mingyan paused mid-step while changing her shoes, her heart skipping a beat.
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‎The consequence of sharing a name with a cat was that every time Meng Xuran spoke to it like this at home, Bo Mingyan would momentarily space out—especially during Meng Xuran’s recent cold.
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‎Her voice, thick with congestion, had sounded soft and childlike, laced with a hint of coquettishness that was impossible to resist.
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‎Even after her cold healed, her unique voice—like clear spring water flowing over gravel—made the words “Xiao Man” roll off her tongue with a lingering tenderness that made ears tingle.
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‎Bo Mingyan still hadn’t gotten used to it. She rubbed her earlobe absentmindedly, shuffled into her slippers, and headed inside.
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‎By the time she reached the living room, Meng Xuran’s phone rang. She set the cat aside, stood from the couch, and walked toward the balcony with her phone.
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‎Judging by her furrowed brows and serious expression, it was likely a work-related call.
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‎Bo Mingyan paid no further attention and went to the kitchen.
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‎The kitchen had gained some new additions.
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‎The first two shelves of the snack cabinet now held a tray of cream strawberries and two bunches of plump grapes, while the lower four shelves were crammed with snacks to satisfy any craving. Among them were two bags of Bo Mingyan’s usual fruit granola—her own stock was nearly finished.
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‎The fridge now housed a carton of eggs and a fresh rack of ribs.
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‎Ironically, after receiving Meng Xuran’s “I want to eat meat” feedback, Bo Mingyan had also bought ribs.
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‎As she slowly sipped water, Bo Mingyan rearranged the groceries she’d bought that evening to fit inside.
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‎”Even feeding a pig wouldn’t require this much.”
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‎Just then, a deliberate throat-clearing sounded from behind her left side.
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‎Bo Mingyan startled, choking on her water.
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‎This woman walked as silently as a cat—no telling whether she’d heard that muttered complaint.
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‎Though Bo Mingyan hadn’t spoken loudly, the kitchen was dead quiet.
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‎Her mind raced with embarrassment. She quickly shut the fridge door, feigning composure as she poured herself another glass of water to calm her nerves.
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‎Then she stationed herself by the counter, radiating an icy “stay away” aura.
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‎Meng Xuran, however, lacked any awareness of being an outsider. She spoke first: “Feel free to take anything from the snack cabinet or fridge if you want it.”
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‎Generous.
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‎Bo Mingyan, however, was exasperated. “I’ll just take the two granola bags. For the fridge stuff, calculate the cost, and I’ll transfer you the money.”
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‎Meng Xuran raised a brow, plucking a bunch of grapes and carrying them to the sink. She turned on the faucet and began rinsing them. “No need. Actually, I wanted to ask you for a favor.”
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‎Bo Mingyan recalled her earlier “I want to eat meat” request and assumed this was another food-related demand. She hummed thoughtfully, “Oh.”
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‎Then, setting down her glass, she pulled out her phone, her slender fingers swiping across the screen to open her notes app. She handed it to Meng Xuran.
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‎[Cabbage stems: no.
‎Cucumber: cannot be stir-fried.
‎No mushrooms.
‎No scallions, ginger, or garlic.
‎No carrots or cilantro.
‎Bell peppers stuffed with meat: yes.
‎Bell peppers stir-fried with meat: no.
‎Sour fruit: no.
‎Crisp peaches: no.
‎Juicy peaches: yes.
‎Braised pork: no fatty parts.
‎Ribs: no sweet-and-sour version.
‎Fish with many bones: no.
‎Fish that’s too fishy: no.]
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‎The note’s title: [Record of Difficult to Handle’s Food Preferences.]
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‎Bo Mingyan said, “Let me know if there’s anything else to add.”
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‎”…”
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‎Meng Xuran could vividly imagine Bo Mingyan’s exasperated expression as she typed all this out.
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‎But now, she was the one feeling speechless and suffocated.
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‎The more confidently she’d declared, “I’m not picky.” the more her face burned now.
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‎”I’m not that picky.” Meng Xuran protested, reaching out to turn off Bo Mingyan’s phone screen.
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‎Bo Mingyan’s fingers were still resting there. Meng Xuran’s movement was abrupt, her fingertips brushing against Bo Mingyan’s before pressing the power button.
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‎Perhaps it was the sheer embarrassment raising her body temperature.
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‎Where their fingers touched, aside from the dampness from the water, there was an undeniable warmth.
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‎Bo Mingyan pocketed her phone, her fingers rubbing together inside her jacket. She offered understandingly, “Maybe it’s hard to see your own habits. Being pampered since childhood creates little quirks you don’t notice yourself.”
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‎Her voice trailed off toward the end as she thought of her own past.
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‎Meng Xuran looked at her, the light in her eyes shimmering like rippling water, as if it might overflow at any moment.
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‎For a second, Bo Mingyan couldn’t tell if the emotion in Meng Xuran’s gaze was due to her own awkwardness or something else…
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‎”Then you must be the ‘clear-eyed observer.’” Meng Xuran said, looking away. She retrieved a blender and bowl from the cabinet, peeling grapes with downcast eyes. Muttering under her breath, “You lecture me more like my mom than my sister does.”
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‎Her grumbling, sulky demeanor was oddly endearing, tempting Bo Mingyan to smile. In a good mood, she helped peel grapes, joking, “I wouldn’t mind you calling me ‘Mom.’ The whole office already thinks it’s your mom cooking for you.”
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‎Meng Xuran’s hands stilled. She turned her head, her captivating peach-blossom eyes glazed with a faint mist. Her gaze pierced through it, landing squarely in Bo Mingyan’s eyes.
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‎Her slender fingers pinched a glistening grape, inching closer and closer.
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‎Bo Mingyan froze. The scent of grapes mixed with Meng Xuran’s cool, fresh fragrance enveloped her. She parted her lips, about to speak—
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‎A plump, juicy grape was pressed between them.
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‎”We’re barely a few years apart. You really want me to call you ‘Mom’?” Meng Xuran’s tear mole lifted slightly with her smirk, a sign she was about to tease. “Why not have me call you ‘Daddy,’ hm?”
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‎Her drawn-out tone was like spun sugar.
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‎The grape, pushed deeper by slender fingers, burst with sweet juice between Bo Mingyan’s lips.
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‎Had her teeth grazed skin, or had fingertips brushed against teeth?
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‎Bo Mingyan was no stranger to internet slang—the “call me Daddy” meme was obvious. Her expression shifted instantly. She pushed Meng Xuran away, snatching the half-bowl of peeled grapes in the process.
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‎Meng Xuran gasped dramatically, immediately playing innocent. “Sorry, sorry! No more jokes. Don’t take those—I wanted to make grape juice!”
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‎She reached for the bowl, but Bo Mingyan, a head taller, held it high above her. Meng Xuran stretched onto her tiptoes, lost her balance, and tumbled forward into Bo Mingyan’s arms.
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‎Her cheek grazed Bo Mingyan’s jaw, her warm breath fanning over slightly parted lips.
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‎Bo Mingyan’s breath hitched.
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‎The late-night silence surged like a rising tide, flooding the room. Outside the window, cicadas perched on some unseen tree, frogs hid in the grass—their chirps and croaks forming an erratic symphony.
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‎Meng Xuran retrieved the bowl and retreated from Bo Mingyan’s embrace. Out of the corner of her eye, Bo Mingyan saw her tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her expression calm as if nothing had happened.
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‎But then she dumped the peeled grapes into the unpeeled half of the bowl.
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‎”…”
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‎Bo Mingyan pretended not to notice, turning on the faucet. The cold water rinsed away the sticky grape residue and cooled the heat from their scuffle.
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‎After washing her hands, Bo Mingyan prepared to leave. The moment her foot pivoted, Meng Xuran asked, “Want some grape juice?”
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‎Bo Mingyan: “No, I’m about to wash up and sleep.”
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‎Meng Xuran: “Don’t make food for me next week.”
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‎Bo Mingyan: “Oh, okay.”
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‎”I’m attending a fashion show. Leaving tomorrow, back around next Sunday.” Meng Xuran poured grapes and water into the blender, her tone casual as she shared her itinerary.
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‎Bo Mingyan’s steps hesitated, but her response was the same: “Oh, okay.”
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‎Meng Xuran added, “Can I ask you for a favor?”
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‎Bo Mingyan glanced at the door, sensing an escape wouldn’t be easy.
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‎She stopped, turning back to face Meng Xuran. “Go ahead.”
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‎Meng Xuran’s warm eyes crinkled with a smile. She looked at her, enunciating each word:
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‎”Can you take good care of Xiao Man for me these few days?”
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‎Only after hearing the cat’s meow from outside the kitchen did Bo Mingyan blink and reply, “Oh, okay.”
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‎”The fish too, please.”
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‎”Oh, okay.”
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‎Meng Xuran’s smile deepened. “And the ‘pig-feeding quantity’ in the fridge—that’s also your responsibility.”
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‎”…”
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‎So she had heard!
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‎Bo Mingyan’s response was no longer “Oh, okay”—just the sound of the door shutting and her retreating back.
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‎Meng Xuran touched the tip of her nose, chuckling softly.
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‎Once out of the kitchen, Bo Mingyan crouched to pet the cat rubbing against her feet.
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‎For a fleeting moment, she’d almost thought Meng Xuran’s “Xiao Man” was referring to her.