<h4>Chapter 204: Vibrant vors</h4>


    Ric was practically buzzing with excitement as he took over Monica’s kitchen, determined to impress—and nourish—her family. His culinary expertise exploded into a spread that looked like it belonged in a five-star restaurant, just like the empire he had made for himself.


    Some perfectly roasted salmon with delicately poached eggs perched on top, a vibrant stir-fry of broli and asparagus that sizzled with vor, a hearty lentil soup simmering with earthy spices, and a crisp avocado and spinach sd drizzled with a rich, ruby-hued mixed berry vinaigrette.


    As a finishing touch, he blended a creamy avocado yogurt smoothie that was both decadent and nutrient-packed. Dn had already dered it his favorite, downing it like it was dessert.


    Cammy’s eyes widened as she rolled Peter’s wheelchair toward the table, momentarily stunned by the sheer amount of food. The scent alone was enough to make her knees wobble.


    "My God, Ric," she gasped, taking it all in. "This isn’t dinner. This is a full-on feast. Are we celebrating something I don’t know about?"


    Ric’s face lit up with pride, a boyish grin tugging at his lips as he leaned on the counter, watching her reaction like it was the only validation he needed.


    "This?" he said with a yful wink. "This is just dinner. Low carb, high protein, loaded with every vitamin and mineral Peter and Dn need to recover. No shortcuts, nopromises."


    "I told you, Uncle Ric’s the best!" Dn chimed in enthusiastically from the other end of the table, his eyes gleaming. He had shadowed Ric the entire afternoon, eager and curious, helping chop, stir, and even te the dishes with an adorably serious expression.


    But Cammy’s focus shifted when she noticed her son greedily sipping the smoothie, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.


    "Dn," she warned with mock sternness, her hands on her hips. "Stop chugging that! You’ll fill yourself up before you even touch your te!"


    He paused mid-sip, grinning sheepishly.


    The air buzzed with energy—warmth, care, and an undercurrent of something deeper, more electric. Ric wasn’t just feeding them. He was fighting for them, one perfectly bnced dish at a time.


    They say the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach—and Ric? Ric lived by that truth like it was gospel. Every slice he chopped, every spice he sprinkled, every dish he ted—it all carried purpose. Passion. Intent.


    And just as he hoped, his efforts paid off.


    Laughter and the clinking of cutlery filled the dining room as the family devoured every bite. Even Peter, who rarely touched more than a few spoonfuls at dinner, was eating with surprising enthusiasm.


    Not just because of the vibrant vors dancing on his tongue, but because it was Cammy—his Cammy—gently feeding him with steady hands and an affectionate smile that lit up her whole face.


    "Cammy," Monica called from across the table, eyebrows raised with motherly concern. "That’s enough now. Your dad’s already eaten twice what he normally does. He might get indigestion—or worse, throw it all back up!"


    "Oh really?" Cammy quipped, shing a grin. She turned to her father, tilting her head. "You’d tell me if you were full, right, Dad? Because so far, you just keep swallowing everything I give you."


    Peter chuckled softly, his voice low and slurred but full of joy. "I’m fine... Daddy happy... food delicious..."


    "You hear that, Ric?" Monica beamed, lifting her ss slightly in mock salute. "My husband is very pleased with your cooking. I wish this was an everyday thing—though, goodness, if it were, I’d be the size of a house!"


    Everyoneughed—everyone except Cammy, who was watching Ric closely.


    "You’d still be the prettiest grandma," Dn piped up innocently, reaching for another spoonful.


    Monica grinned and pinched his cheek. "You little charmer—you really know how to make a woman smile."


    Ric leaned back in his seat, his eyes locked on Cammy. His smile was rxed, effortless—but there was a flicker of something deeper behind it, something simmering and unsaid.


    "Well," he said, his tone light, "the daily thing... that’s doable. There are studies on stroke recovery that show significant progress with the right kind of diet. Tailored, consistent nutrition can make a huge difference. I’d be more than willing to take care of that."


    The way he said it—low, deliberate, marked with more meaning than the words revealed—sent a flicker through Cammy’s chest. Her breath hitched slightly, her throat dry despite the wine.


    Trying to keep her voice light, she replied, "Or... you could just give me some of your easy recipes. I could teach the caregiver."


    But they both knew that wasn’t what he meant.


    There was a beat—a pause long enough to feel heavy. And in that silence, their eyes locked across the table, an electric current charging the space between them.


    The food had filled their stomachs. But something far more dangerous was stirring in the air—unspoken invitations, buried desires, and the unrelenting pull of something that Ric wasn’t ready to name.


    Not yet. He has to be patient.


    After dinner, the house quieted into a warm hush. Cammy and Ric worked side by side with the night shift caregiver, gently helping Peter through his bedtime routine—cleaning him, changing him,ying him down with practiced care.


    It was intimate work, quiet and solemn, but done with love. Cammy’s hands were steady, Ric’s movements calm and sure. No words were needed, but their nces held weight.


    Meanwhile, Monica retreated to Dn’s room, where the glow of a bedsidemp and the soft cadence of bedtime stories wrapped the boy infort and dreams.


    Later, with the house now nketed in silence and the air cool with theing night, Cammy led Ric out to the balcony. A second bottle of wine was already open. She poured generously, her fingers brushing his for just a breath of a second. It was subtle—but it burned.


    "I figured a little more wine wouldn’t hurt," she murmured, settling into her seat with a sigh. "Maybe it’ll help me sleep tonight."


    Ric turned his gaze toward her, his eyes unreadable in the dim light, shadows dancing across his sharp features. He swirled the deep red liquid in his ss before taking a long sip.


    "So," he said quietly but firmly, "what’s the n, Cammy?"


    Cammy leaned back, the chair creaking slightly beneath her. She stared at her wine, watching the swirl of burgundy as if it could somehow tell her future. Her voice was soft—broken at the edges.


    "I... I don’t know anymore, Ric. I had a n. A simple one. I thought once the divorce with Duncan was finalized, I’d finally have peace. Just me and Dn, starting over. No chaos. No drama. Just breathing... and finally living."


    She paused, her jaw tightening, her eyes glinting with something between frustration and fatigue. "But then this new nightmare came barreling into my life. Everything is falling apart again before it could even begin. It’s like the universe is hell-bent on keeping me from being happy. Like it’s... punishing me."


    Ric didn’t flinch. He turned fully toward her, his voice low but cutting through the stillness like a de. "I don’t think the universe is punishing you, Cammy. I think it’s redirecting you. Throwing obstacles at you because you’re not aligned with your real purpose yet."


    Cammy blinked and turned toward him slowly, her eyes narrowing. "And what exactly is that purpose?" she asked, almost sarcastically—almost.


    He didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Just looked at her with an intensity that made her pulse stutter.


    "To be with me," he said tly, seriously, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.


    **********


    Thank you for the gifts!


    GoddessKM and DaoistC6cpj4 :D