Chapter 32 - Parallel Lines

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Once all the ingredients and cookware had been delivered, Serg realized for the first time just how literal the phrase "a day that feels like a year" could be.

 

Taotie hadn't returned to the workshop. Instead, he had made himself comfortable in the kitchen, perched at the long counter, drinking beer in absolute silence.

 

Serg had never known silence could be so suffocating.

 

More than once, he startled at the sound of his own breathing, his nerves stretched tight under the unbearable weight of the stillness.

 

Taotie simply sat there, saying nothing. He wasn't even watching Serg. His gray eyes were lowered, seemingly engrossed in an aged parchment resting on his lap.

 

Serg had always disliked loud, unpleasant eating noises—his upbringing had taught him that such behavior was crude and ill-mannered.

 

But to encounter someone as utterly noiseless as Taotie… that was a first. Whether swallowing his beer or, as Serg only now realized, crunching on the heart of a cabbage as a snack, he made not the slightest sound.

 

The bright, sunlit kitchen was wrapped in an odd, heavy atmosphere. Though the midday sunlight streamed through the windows, it somehow felt dim.

 

Leaning against the counter, Serg opened his mouth several times to break the silence, but every time his gaze landed on Taotie's solid form—broad shoulders wrapped in a short-sleeved shirt over a thin T-shirt—the words shriveled on his tongue.

 

In the end, he found himself staring at his own hands, lost in thought. What kind of color could be considered a "delicious" color?

 

Shuai Zhaomin had once teased that his skin looked like rich, sweet milk chocolate—smooth, velvety, the kind of treat children would love.

 

He had laughed it off at the time. Everyone in his family shared this complexion. No one had ever likened it to chocolate before.

 

Turning his palms over, he studied them carefully. The skin there was lighter, though not as starkly pale or flushed as someone with darker skin might have. A soft, warm hue shimmered beneath the surface.

 

Why had Taotie called it a "delicious" color? Unable to make sense of it, Serg let out a quiet sigh and lifted his head in search of a clock.

 

And nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

Taotie's gray eyes were locked onto him. How long had he been staring?

 

His throat went dry. He swallowed, forcing out a small, awkward cough, his face burning with embarrassment.

 

"Mr. Serg," Taotie finally spoke, his voice calm, as if he hadn't just been watching him in silence. He had finished chewing with deliberate care before addressing him.

 

"Yes?" Was he about to place another order? After requesting a chocolate pie, Taotie had gone on to order three more dishes. It was hard to gauge whether he had a large appetite or not, and that uncertainty made portioning difficult.

 

The dishes themselves were simple—boiled potatoes, broccoli purée, and eggplant lasagna.

 

To Serg, this combination was odd. Two mains, one side—did that mean Taotie ate a lot?

 

"It's delicious, isn't it?" Taotie's hand held what remained of a cabbage heart, now reduced to less than a third of its original size.

 

Serg blinked, momentarily confused, and instinctively glanced at his own hands again.

 

Was he talking about the cabbage? Or…?

 

"Mm." He gave a vague response, unsure how to answer either possibility.

 

"I don't like America," Taotie remarked, as if moving on from the subject entirely.

 

Serg exhaled in quiet relief. He had been dreading that Taotie might suddenly ask, "So, when is next time?"

 

"America is… a unique place."

 

Speaking with Taotie was no easier than enduring silence. The Brelini family all had pleasant voices—whether it was Sara, Tengshe, or Taotie, each carried their own distinct but captivating tone.

 

Taotie's deep baritone, however, held an additional weight—an emptiness that pressed down on Serg like a heavy hand. More often than not, he found himself unconsciously holding his breath, his head buzzing with the effort.

 

"Hmm." Taotie nodded, taking another bite of his cabbage as if it were an apple. He chewed carefully, deliberately. "Vito loves it. I imagine Tengshe does, too."

 

Why was he bringing up Tengshe now?

 

Serg stiffened, his delicate brows furrowing.

 

Taotie soon finished the last of his cabbage heart, washing it down with a deep swig of beer. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, gray eyes never straying from Serg's dark ones.

 

Serg could barely breathe. His throat tightened as he coughed lightly again, looking away. His muscles coiled, wound tight with tension.

 

"Aren't you curious about Tengshe and Fitch?"

 

"No," Serg answered immediately. "Even if I knew, it wouldn't change anything, would it?"

 

His voice trembled slightly. It took every ounce of strength to string his words together properly.

 

Whatever kind of people Tengshe and Fitch were, whatever they intended to do—it didn't matter. His path was already set.

 

"Oh?" Taotie tilted his head, as if turning the thought over in his mind. His gray gaze drifted toward the ceiling, reflecting it.

 

"Mr. Taotie, what kind of sauce would you like with your boiled potatoes?"

 

Serg had no desire to linger on the subject of Tengshe. The deal had been made. Taotie had accepted it. There was nothing more to discuss.

 

"Cheese sauce." Taotie's eyes remained on the ceiling, but his tongue flicked out, wetting his lips instinctively.

 

Serg couldn't help but chuckle.

 

"Mr. Taotie, why didn't you bring a chef with you?"

 

It seemed a waste, leaving such a well-equipped kitchen unused.

 

"A chef?" For the first time, there was a shift in Taotie's voice. His usual calm, measured tone carried the slightest lilt of amusement.

 

"Hmm… When you were in Italy, who prepared your meals?"

 

"The clerics would prepare it." His response was so matter-of-fact that it left Serg momentarily blank.

 

Clerics? Serg knew Italy was a Catholic country—his own homeland placed great importance on faith as well—but… clerics preparing meals?

 

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand. The clerics are…?" They were speaking English, yet somehow, Taotie always managed to say things Serg struggled to grasp.

 

"The ones who aren't quite priests yet." The corner of Taotie's mouth twitched slightly, an almost-smile.

 

"I see. What I don't understand is—why were they the ones making your meals?" Without realizing it, Serg had taken a step forward. Rationally, he knew he was overstepping, but the gap in his understanding gnawed at him.

 

"Because it was convenient." A simple, decisive answer—its only flaw being that it was far too succinct.

 

"Was it… good?" Years of upbringing kept Serg from asking more bluntly. Even as an outsider to the faith, he understood that most people did not take all their meals at a church, let alone consider it a matter of 'convenience.'

 

But he couldn't bring himself to press further. In the end, he could only exhale deeply.

 

"The portions weren't quite enough."

 

…Was that a hint that he should prepare more food later?

 

Since the moment they met, barely two hours had passed. Yet aside from the moments Serg hadn't been watching, Taotie's mouth had rarely been empty.

 

"Are you hungry?" He glanced at the clock. Lunch, as Vito had told him, was still an hour away, but the man before him didn't seem inclined to wait that long.

 

"Mm." Taotie readily admitted it. He hopped down from the barstool and, with just a few strides, closed the distance between them. "Flour and butter… That's your scent."

 

"Uh… Is it?" Instinctively, Serg took a step back. Taotie followed, his nose twitching slightly as he inhaled.

 

If Vito was like a pet dog Serg had once owned, then Taotie was a truffle hound, prowling the forest in search of treasure. For the first time, Serg found himself so flustered that he had no idea where to put his hands and feet.

 

"Vito said your shop smells incredible." A trace of something—almost longing—flickered in Taotie's quiet, near-hollow gray eyes.

 

Serg gave an anxious smile. The sentiment was charming in a way, yet the proximity unsettled him.

 

"If you'd like, you're welcome to visit." The offer contradicted reality—he had already traded himself to Taotie, and whether he could ever return remained uncertain.

 

"I like the scent of freshly baked bread… and coffee." Taotie leaned in a fraction closer, his slightly upturned lips nearly brushing Serg's cheek. Serg had already retreated as far as he could.

 

"Is that so?" His throat tightened with dryness. Left with no other option, he hoisted himself onto the kitchen counter, determined to preserve what little distance remained. "What kind of bread do you like?"

 

"I don't like plain white bread—unless it's an entire loaf." Taotie braced his hands against the counter, his broad frame inching forward. The tip of his nose grazed Serg's cheek.

 

"I-Is that so?" There was truly no escape now.

 

Serg blinked rapidly, nerves shot. Even Shao Zhaomin had never invaded his space like this before.

 

No—whether this counted as intimate was debatable. Taotie wasn't teasing him. He was simply inhaling his scent, half-lidded gray eyes fixed on him, as if searching for something.

 

"Serg, the food deliv—"

 

Vito's cheerful voice halted mid-sentence the moment he saw the two of them, nearly pressed together on the counter. Then, with a knowing grin, he chuckled. "Oh? Master, Serg isn't for eating."

 

"Vito…"

 

Serg felt like he was going to combust from sheer embarrassment. Taotie, however, appeared utterly unfazed. Still, he withdrew from Serg's space without hesitation.

 

"The food has arrived?" There was definitely a hint of excitement beneath Taotie's usual calm tone—Serg was sure of it.

 

"Yes, but stay back! Last time, you only carried two crates before you started chewing on the vegetables. I can handle it alone." Vito waved him off with exaggerated distaste, then turned to Serg with a bright, friendly smile. "Serg, should I put everything in the fridge? I don't think I've ever seen a full fridge before!"

 

"No, some of them—"

 

"I'll bring it all in first. You can sort it out later."

 

Taotie moved swiftly. Vito barely had time to curse under his breath before chasing after him.

 

Left sitting on the counter, Serg couldn't help but feel a faint sense of defeat.

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