06 He gets down on one knee

Gemma's POV.

I mix the fish and broth with the rice and finish the whole bowl in one go. Luke sits across from me and serves me another bowl from the pot.

I eat until I start hiccupping and put down my spoon. Luke then speaks up, "So, what's the situation with your home?"

I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "I'm still waiting in line for the plumber. They're short-staffed, so it'll take some time."

"So you can't stay at home?"

I nod. "I'm planning to book a hotel."

After that, I get up to grab the plates and forks, politely saying, "Boss, I'll do the dishes."

During this time, Luke stays on the couch in the living room, working on his computer, wearing his gold-rimmed glasses again.

I put the dishes away and quietly interrupt him, "Boss, goodbye."

Luke glances at me and then turns his laptop screen towards me. It's showing Booking.com.

He adjusts his glasses and says, "Since you were kind enough to wash the dishes for me, I kindly checked for you. It's the weekend, the nearby hotels are fully booked, and the cheapest one is $300 a night."

I look at the expensive hotels on the screen and frown slightly.

I had talked with the plumber on the phone; their quote was $600. Adding the cost of replacing water-damaged furniture and hotel expenses, I'm practically broke this month.

After thinking for a couple of seconds, I relax my brow. "I can stay at a youth hostel."

"Really? The kind where at least four people share a room?" Luke raises an eyebrow.

I shrug.

"Thanks for your hospitality, boss."

Then I turn to leave.

"You have another option," Luke suddenly says.

"What?"

Luke points to a door in the house. "Stay in my guest room."

I admit I'm tempted for a moment, but I remain silent for a couple of seconds.

"Why?"

Our positions are opposites; he's the boss who holds my fate, and I'm the low-level employee at his mercy.

Our genders are also opposites, two entirely different reproductive systems.

"Do you like watching mukbangs?" Luke suddenly asks.

"Huh?" I don't get it.

"I think if you ever quit, you'd be popular as a mukbang streamer."

I'm almost about to roll my eyes. "Are you implying I eat a lot?"

"If that's how you want to think it."

Luke smiles, stands up, and opens the guest room door. "You can check out the room and decide."

The next moment, my phone rings.

"Is it Miss Gemma Dawson? This is NYU Langone Hospitals."

"Yes, that's me."

Three years ago, I had my cornea transplant surgery there.

"We're calling to ask if you've experienced any redness or vision blurring for over 24 hours recently?"

I think for a few seconds. "No, but my eyes do get tired sometimes, so I use eye drops."

"I see," the female voice continues on the other end. "If you have time, it would be best to come to the hospital for a check-up."

While I'm on the phone, Luke crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, watching me.

The nurse continues, "Because about 20% of corneal transplant patients experience rejection, and it can happen at any time, whether it's a few years or several decades later. If we catch it early, medication can control it."

"Okay, got it."

I schedule a follow-up appointment with the nurse, and after hanging up, I look up to find Luke still staring at me.

"You had a cornea transplant?" he asks.

I nod, suddenly becoming cautious. "I didn't deliberately hide it from the company, and my health reports have always been fine, so you can't fire me just because I was once a patient."

"When did you have the surgery?" Luke continues to ask.

"Three years ago, in winter."

"Which hospital?"

"NYU Langone."

Luke nods. "They have a good reputation there, and the doctors are very professional."

"Alright," he changes the subject, "now let's look at the room."

I crane my neck and then freeze.

Not to mention the comfortable-looking bed, what's that brown thing in the corner of the room?

An Egg chair by Jacobsen?

An Egg chair that costs at least $8,000???

I've been saving money to pay off loans, and all the furniture in my house is from IKEA, from the discounted damaged goods section in IKEA. How can Luke, living in the same neighborhood, be so extravagant?

"You eat with passion. Being with you even makes my appetite better," Luke smiles. "So, what do you think? Want to stay here?"

My gaze shifts from the Egg Chair back to Luke's face.

I cough lightly, pretending to be reserved. "Is your mattress comfortable?"

"It's a Hästens."

My eyes widen. "The same one Tom Cruise sleeps on?"

He nods. "Uh huh."

"Then why do you live in this dump— uh, I mean, this modest complex?"

Luke's patience wears thin; he frowns slightly. "Do you want to stay here or not?"

"Thank you, boss!!" I quickly change my tone.

"But there are conditions." A faint smile plays on Luke's lips.

"What are they?"

"You can stay here for free, but you have to do the cleaning."

"Of course. I'll take care of all the housework. Anything else?"

"You'll do the cooking."

I pause. "I'm not very good at cooking."

"You cook."

"Alright then," I nod. "What would you like for dinner?"

"Clam pasta."

I pick up an eco-friendly shopping bag. "I'll go buy the ingredients now."

After shopping, I return home to grab a change of clothes and toiletries, bring them to Luke's guest room, take a shower, call the plumber to expedite things, and take a short nap on that cloud-like bed. Before I know it, it's dinner time.

I step out of the room to find Luke still working in the living room.

He hears me and looks up. "Well then, I'll leave it to you... the kitchen's over there."

Still groggy from my nap, I blink. "You know, I'm really a bad cook."

"No worries. I've prepared a detailed recipe for you. Good luck."

I walk into the kitchen and follow the recipe step by step.

An hour later.

"Are you telling me this... is your idea of clam pasta?"

Luke pokes at the charred remains on the plate with his fork, shaking his head. "These clams won't forgive you even in heaven."

"I told you I'm not good at cooking. You're the one who insisted I do it!" My face is smeared with oil and smoke, and I feel utterly wronged.

"Forget it, I'll do it." Luke rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms, and waves me off. "You can leave now."

As I turn around, I can't help but smile silently.

It's true that my cooking skills are lousy, but not to the point of burning clam shells. I did this just to get Luke to show off his cooking skills.

The fish he made for lunch was good enough to be served in a restaurant. Why insist on me cooking?

I head to the living room to rest, but soon, a series of sounds come from the kitchen: continuous clattering of broken dishes, explosive flares from the oil pan, and the thud of a fallen knife.

Throughout it all, Luke himself remains utterly silent.

A minute later, the kitchen door opens, and Luke walks out slowly, still as elegant as ever, his face as handsome as before.

But I can clearly see that the kitchen behind him has turned into a war zone.

Luke pulls down his sleeves and says calmly, "There was a slight accident."

I rush to the kitchen doorway and stare in disbelief at what looks like a crime scene from a murder mystery. After a long moment, I conclude, "...You can't cook?"

"Did I ever say I could?" Luke replies coolly.

"Then what was that fish at lunch?" I ask, eyes wide.

"The hourly worker made it and I just put it on a plate."

I'm speechless but quickly say, "Alright, I'll go see if there's any ingredients left that can be salvaged."

After all, it's my money that was spent.

"Don't go in," Luke says.

"Why?" I ask, taking a step forward.

A sharp pain shoots through my foot.

Fragments from the broken dishes have pierced straight into my sole.

"Because there are shards on the floor," Luke says slowly as he helps me up and guides me to sit on the sofa.

"You did that on purpose!" I look at the blood seeping from my foot, both scared and angry, and start scolding my boss. "You're despicable! You're a bad person! You..."

My rant is cut short by Luke's actions—he gets down on one knee, naturally placing my injured foot on his thigh. Then, lowering his head, he begins to gently and carefully bandage my wound.

My mouth hangs open in shock.