“Alright, I’m making lunch. Is there anything you’d like to eat?” Xyla asked.

“I’m good with anything,” replied Stanley.

“What about the food you hate?”

They would be living together for one year, so she felt the need to be aware.

“None.”

With a nod, Xyla turned to enter the kitchen. Her father had instructed the maid to fill up their fridge yesterday, so it was well stocked. She took out the ingredients she would be using and washed them.

Soon, a household norm of four dishes and one