“So?” Clayton asked me with an anticipating look when I tasted the omelet he cooked. He was full of pride.
I chewed the omelet softly and nodded. I maintained a neutral expression while Clayton was waiting for my review of his specialty. This is what he told me that he cooks best.
And he really does but I don’t think I’m going to admit it to his face. But he’s a better cook at this than the cook of the restaurant my family frequents.
I looked at him with a poker face. “Yeah, it’s good,” I told him, trying to sound as nonchalantly as possible. “It could be better.” I lied.
It’s probably the best omelet I have ever tasted in my whole life.
He looked so disappointed when he heard my review. He seemed to not accept that it was just good. I know that he was waiting for a better remark
