The Dinner
“It’s fine, ma’am. Maybe she’s not comfortable,” I repeated.
Mrs. Levrinne lightly hit my shoulder and chuckled. “I told you, she liked it when someone’s tasting her dish. Don’t worry about her,” she shrugged as we both watched Ari kneading the dough.
We are at their dining table in front of their island-type kitchen. Mrs. Levrinne suggested that we eat here instead of at their usual dining table.
My eyes darted at her face. Her brows are furrowed and her lips are pouting. Her long straight red-orange hair is tied in a bun. Some flour powder is on her cheeks while her eyes are all focused on her work.
“She will be a great chef or probably a baker. It’s her passion.” Mrs. Levrinne leaned toward me and whispered. Ari felt the sudden move and harshly turn her head directly
