12 Dinner Invitation(Part 2)

As Jasper arrived at Travis' apartment about an hour after we returned from our city tour, I found myself reluctantly assisting with the kitchen tasks. Despite my initial reluctance to engage with Jasper, I knew it was inevitable given the debt of gratitude I owed him. With Travis bustling around, adding his flair to every dish, the atmosphere was oddly congenial, masking the tension bubbling beneath the surface.

I couldn't shake the annoyance gnawing at me. Having to express gratitude to someone like Jasper, whom I found both annoying and clingy, felt like swallowing bitter medicine. It grated on me to resort to such measures just to get him to back off. I couldn't help but wonder if Jasper was one of those individuals who relentlessly pursued others when faced with disinterest. His persistence suggested a certain level of entitlement, and I couldn't imagine him being accustomed to rejection. Perhaps that's why he refused to let things go, refusing to accept that someone might not reciprocate his advances.

As I stood at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables with deliberate focus, I could feel Jasper's presence boring into my back like an annoying sore. Despite my efforts to ignore him, his energy seemed to linger, an unwelcome intrusion that grated on my nerves. I continued with my task, determined not to let his presence disrupt my concentration.

The muffled whispers of Travis and Jasper filled the air, their voices blending into an indistinct murmur. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps crept closer, a stealthy approach that made my skin prickle with unease.

"Stay away from me. If I slip, this knife in my hand could end up in your neck," I said without turning around. The footsteps froze.

"I just got hungry at the sight of you," Jasper said weakly.

"I'm not a rack of ribs, Jasper," I rolled my eyes.

"Speaking of, you don't look like the type to be able to cook." Jasper pointed out.

"Then what do I look like?" I asked, curiosity piqued despite myself. "I used to cook all the time."

Jasper chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "You look like someone who's more comfortable with a takeout menu than a chef's knife."

I couldn't help but smirk at his teasing tone. "Well, appearances can be deceiving. I happen to be quite skilled in the kitchen."

"Prove it," Jasper challenged, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Cook us something impressive tonight."

I hesitated for a moment, considering his request. "Fine, but only if you promise to stop pestering me after tonight."

Jasper grinned. "You know I can't agree to that."

I noticed Jasper's skeptical expression and it irked me slightly. Sure, I hadn't been in the kitchen much lately, but I was no stranger to cooking. Being a young master didn't mean I couldn't handle a meal.

"Don't look so surprised," I retorted, my tone sharper than I intended. "Just because I haven't been slaving away in the kitchen doesn't mean I've forgotten how to cook."

Jasper raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, I'm not doubting you. I'm just looking forward to seeing your culinary skills in action."

I grunted in response, turning my attention back to the vegetables, determined to prove Jasper wrong about me.

As I stirred the simmering broth, I noticed Jasper watching me intently. Without much thought, I scooped out a spoonful and held it out to him.

"Taste this and tell me if it's too salty," I instructed, my voice trailing off as I realized what I was doing. Before I could retract my hand, Jasper reached out and firmly grasped my arm, bringing the spoon to his lips.

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest as Jasper tasted the broth. His expression softened, and he nodded in approval. "It's perfect," he said, releasing my arm and handing the spoon back to me.

I took a step back, feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. What had just happened? Why did I let Jasper taste the broth? And why did his touch feel so... unsettling?

As Jasper handed the spoon back to me, I tried to shake off the strange sensation his touch had left behind. Clearing my throat, I forced a casual tone. "Good to know. Thanks."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to Travis. "Your friend here has some serious culinary skills," he remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

Travis chuckled. "Yeah, Alex has surprised me too. He's a man of many talents."

I busied myself with stirring the broth again, trying to ignore the tension that lingered in the air. It was unsettling how easily Jasper seemed to unsettle me, especially considering how little I knew about him. But I couldn't let that distract me. I had to stay focused on the task at hand – getting him to leave and never bother me again.

"So, how long have you been cooking?" Jasper's voice broke through my thoughts, and I glanced up to see him studying me with genuine interest.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I've been cooking for as long as I can remember. My family used to have these elaborate dinners, and I enjoyed helping out in the kitchen."

"Must've been nice," Jasper smiled. Family dinners at home were never a source of warmth or comfort in our household. Instead, they were weekly gatherings that served as a stage for my father's relentless scrutiny and judgment. Each meal felt like an audition, with my siblings and I vying for his approval and validation.

As we gathered around the table, the atmosphere would grow tense, anticipation hanging thick in the air like a heavy fog. My father would sit at the head of the table, his imposing presence casting a shadow over the room. He would survey each of us with a critical eye, his expression unreadable yet laden with expectation.

The conversations that ensued were often laced with veiled criticism and subtle jabs. My father would inquire about our accomplishments and successes, but it was never out of genuine interest. Instead, it felt like a test, a means to gauge our worthiness in his eyes.

I dreaded those evaluations, the pressure to perform weighing heavily on my shoulders. Any hint of imperfection was met with disapproval, and I learned early on to mask my vulnerabilities and insecurities behind a facade of perfection.

Despite my efforts to excel, I was never able to fully escape my father's scrutiny. His standards were impossibly high, and no matter how hard I tried, it never seemed to be enough. Each dinner became a battleground, a constant struggle to meet his expectations and avoid his wrath.

Looking back, I realize now how toxic those family dinners were, how they fostered an environment of fear and resentment rather than love and support like normal.

Jasper nodded thoughtfully. "That's impressive. Not many people your age can cook like this."

"So what do I look like now? Still a take out kind of guy?" I smirked proudly.

"A pampered young master. You still look like a kid from a well off family." Jasper giggled. "In fact, you look like the type to have a lot of servants. You have this 'Bow to me or else' kind of vibe to you."

"Asshole," I muttered to his amusement.

"You don't believe me? Back when I held your hands I noticed that you had hands of someone who recently started to work." Jasper pointed out.

"How do you know it's recent?" I asked.

"Too few calluses. I thought it was far fetched for you to do housework. Who would've known you were a cook." Jasper smiled.

"True, I didn't used to cook much, but I learned a lot." I said.

"The person who taught you must be really extraordinary then if you learned a few times and your skill is at this level." Jasper said.

"My grandmother came from a long line of chefs, so it's in the DNA." I shook my head at him.

"So your family works in agriculture?" Jasper asked. I paused, my grip tightening around the knife as Jasper's question caught me off guard. Why was he suddenly so interested in my family's background? I had always been guarded about my past, especially with someone like Jasper who seemed to have ulterior motives.

"Why do you want to know?" I asked cautiously, my eyes narrowing as I studied his expression for any hint of deception.

Jasper shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. "Just making conversation. You mentioned your grandmother was a chef, so I figured there might be a culinary legacy in your family."

I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "Yeah, my family has a history in agriculture. My great-grandparents owned a successful farm, and my grandmother was renowned for her cooking skills. It's where I picked up a few tricks."

Jasper nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his inquiry than simple curiosity. I made a mental note to tread carefully around him, wary of his probing questions and hidden agenda.

"You're an interesting character."

As I focused on the sizzling ingredients in the pan, I could feel Jasper's gaze lingering on me, his silence hanging heavy in the air. It was unnerving, the way he observed my every move with such intensity. Despite my efforts to ignore him, his presence seemed to weigh on me, making my hands tremble slightly as I stirred the dish.

"You're really good at this," Jasper finally broke the silence, his tone genuine yet tinged with curiosity.

I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to brush off his compliment. "Just something I picked up along the way."

But Jasper persisted, his eyes sparkling with interest. "No, seriously, you have a real talent for cooking. Ever consider making it more than just a hobby?"

"I'm poor. I don't have the funds to open a restaurant." I frowned.

Jasper's expression softened, a sympathetic look crossing his features as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "Money isn't everything, you know. Sometimes all it takes is determination and a little creativity to make your dreams a reality. And I was just suggesting becoming a chef."

As I mulled over Jasper's words, a sense of frustration and bitterness crept over me. He spoke of money as if it were inconsequential, oblivious to the complexities of wealth and privilege that had shaped my upbringing. Growing up in a wealthy family, money wasn't just a means of acquiring material possessions; it was a currency of power and influence that permeated every aspect of our lives.

In contrast, Jasper's humble background likely shielded him from the cutthroat world of wealth and privilege, where greed and ambition ruled supreme. He couldn't possibly understand the relentless pressure to succeed, the constant scrutiny of our family's status, and the sacrifices made in the name of maintaining appearances.

Yet, despite my frustration, a part of me envied Jasper's simplicity and sincerity. He lived a life untainted by the trappings of wealth, free from the burdens of expectation and entitlement that weighed heavily on me. Perhaps there was wisdom in his perspective, a reminder that true wealth lay not in material possessions, but in the richness of human connection and genuine kindness.

But for now, I couldn't shake the bitterness that clouded my thoughts. Money may not be everything to Jasper, but in my world, it was the measure of success, the currency of power, and the root of all ambition. And as much as I longed to escape its grasp, I knew I was inexorably bound to the world of wealth and privilege, with all its complexities and contradictions.

Unlucky.