Chapter 3: Ghosts of Willow Lane

But his gaze made me nervous.

I always felt that what he was watching wasn’t the pork, but… me…

From my head, to my waist, to… my backside… Yeah, that’s not awkward at all.

I felt a bit uneasy. “Sir, you’re the Governor’s son. Should you really be hanging around here? You’d better go.”

Everett smiled. “It’s fine, I like it here.”

My hand slipped, and the knife missed by two inches.

Luckily, I didn’t cut myself.

No wonder he’s the son of the most beautiful woman in the state. His looks are second only to one person I’ve seen.

As for the first, it’s always Maribel.

I steadied myself and skillfully prepared the three essentials for removing the smell from the pork.

After blanching, I caramelized sugar over a low flame. The kitchen filled with the smell of caramelized sugar. My stomach growled.

When the pork was coated in glossy syrup, I added a little salt, secret sauce, mixed everything evenly, then added ginger, scallions, star anise, cinnamon, poured in hot water, brought it to a boil, and then simmered everything in a slow cooker on low. The aroma instantly filled the whole kitchen.

I couldn’t help swallowing.

Everett suddenly asked, “Jamie, you started here at fourteen, right?”

“Yeah.” I fanned the fire as I replied.

“So, it’s been six years since you visited your folks, huh…”

Me: “Uh…”

My parents are alive and well. Why would I visit their graves?

Seeing my reaction, Everett suddenly froze. “Your parents are still alive?”

I answered cautiously, “Y-Yeah…”

I really didn’t get why his expression changed, reminding me of Mrs. Peterson next door when she found out her husband had bought another boat.

He asked again, “Where does your family live?”

“The third house on Willow Lane, right near the edge of Maple Heights.”

Everett’s face darkened even more. “You sure it’s not Oakridge Road?”

I said in surprise, “Nope, never even been there. Why?”

Suddenly, Everett slapped his thigh and stood up.

I was startled, racking my brain to see if I’d said something wrong.

He was about to say something when Mr. Wilkins’s voice came from outside.

Everett snorted and left, his suit jacket flaring.

I vaguely heard some conversation.

I only caught words like “Councilman Keaton,” “medication,” and “framing.”

Mr. Wilkins said Everett was angry, but didn’t know who’d ticked him off.

Everyone in the East Wing who entered his room was sent away.

Everett specifically named me to attend to him personally.

I was so scared I nearly fell to my knees, repeating, “I’m just a cook. If I go in to help, it’ll just make things worse.”

As soon as I finished, Everett’s unpredictable voice came from the study:

“Jamie Morales, get in here!”

“Coming!” I ran in without thinking.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, I realized something was off.

Why did this feel so familiar?

Suddenly, an annoying memory popped into my mind—a rich kid who always ordered his rescuer around!

Their tone just now was exactly the same!

Funny thing is, this wasn’t my first run-in with trouble. When I was twelve, I went to the woods to pick mushrooms and found an unconscious boy by the creek.

Blood from his wounds had stained the water red.

Afraid of trouble, I didn’t want to help.

But Maribel said she liked kind people.

So I carried him to a nearby barn, picked a bunch of wild herbs, and patched him up.

Whether he survived was up to fate.

When I came back from picking mushrooms, he’d actually woken up.

After I explained the situation, he naturally started bossing me around.

If it wasn’t telling me to change his bandages or rub his shoulders, it was to fetch all sorts of things.

He was used to being in charge, and I probably had a bit of a pushover streak. Even though I said I didn’t want to, I always did as he asked.

Later, someone came to pick him up.

He asked if I wanted to go with him, saying he could guarantee me a life of comfort and security.

Seeing a group of men in black suits, I shook my head in fear.

“Why?” he asked.

As if, if I didn’t give a good answer, those guys would make me disappear.

In the end, I had to make something up.

As for what I said, it’s been eight years and I’ve already forgotten.

“Why are you stalling? Get over here.”

Everett’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

I answered and walked over. “Do you need something, sir?”

He looked up at me. “Why are you standing so far away?”

“Honestly, sir, I’m afraid I smell like the kitchen. Don’t want to bother you.”

He half-smiled. “Tell the truth, or I’ll make you mop the floors.”

I lowered my head and answered honestly, “Standing near the door, if you get mad, it’s easier to run.”