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Novel Catalog
Chapter 47: Dalton’s Stomach Was Conquered
Sergio wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, but the mouthwatering aroma of the food that Wynter had prepared was hard to ignore. The smell seemed to reach every corner of the yard, tempting even the most cautious of eaters.
Margaret smiled, clearly proud of the food. “Not bad, huh?” she said, her eyes twinkling as she watched everyone else’s reactions.
Wynter didn’t stop there. As the food cooked, she stayed busy. After placing the stew and mashed potatoes in the pot, she started making pancakes filled with raisins. The sound of sizzling food was almost musical, and soon she had a fresh, colorful salad drizzled with olive oil, adding a burst of color to the spread.
Ethan couldn’t help but keep looking over at the table. The bread rolls, still steaming from the oven, looked perfect. Everything seemed to be coming together, and the smell was so inviting that it made his stomach growl.
Sergio’s eyes were fixed on the food, but there was a lingering hesitation. He was eager to taste it, but a little wary—especially when it came to Wynter’s cooking. What if something didn’t sit well with him?
Margaret grinned, noticing the hesitation. “Go ahead and start eating. Let’s see what Wynter’s cooked up!”
Without another word, Sergio and Ethan reached for the food, but Ethan paused, glancing nervously at Dalton who sat beside him. Dalton, as usual, hadn’t touched any food yet. His stomach problems were well-known, and eating someone else’s cooking could be risky for him.
“Mr. Yarwood, maybe you should…” Ethan started, but before he could finish, Dalton had already picked up his fork, ready to eat.
Ethan’s anxiety spiked. What if Dalton’s stomach reacted poorly to the food? The thought of Dalton becoming ill after eating caused a knot to form in Ethan’s stomach.
Just then, Wynter walked over, carrying a tray of food. It included her freshly made pancakes and a plate of pasta primavera. She carefully placed it in front of Dalton.
“These are for you,” she said softly, meeting his eyes.
Dalton looked up at her, his expression unreadable.
Wynter nodded and explained, “The pancakes are good for your stomach. They’re light and easy to digest. You can have the pasta when it cools down a bit.”
Ethan stared in awe. The detail, the thoughtfulness—Wynter truly knew what she was doing. It was no wonder she was so respected in her field.
Dalton, though, was more focused on the fact that Wynter was attending to him with such care. For a brief moment, he felt as though she was taking extra special care of him, a feeling that caused a subtle warmth to spread through him. He couldn’t deny it—it felt good to be treated this way.
Margaret only started eating once she saw that everyone else had begun. She savored every bite, taking in the rich, hearty flavors of the stew, the creamy mashed potatoes, and the crisp salad. Sergio, too, found himself enjoying the food more than he’d anticipated. The meat was tender, the potatoes impossibly smooth. He’d never thought mashed potatoes could taste so heavenly.
Dalton, who usually had a poor appetite, found himself eating without thinking too much. He’d initially intended to eat just a little, out of politeness, but as he tasted the pancakes, he was surprised by how good they were. Each bite lingered with a perfect balance of sweetness and texture. The salad paired wonderfully with the rich stew, and before he knew it, he had eaten three pancakes and two plates of pasta.
When he reached for another pancake, Wynter’s voice cut through the moment. “That’s enough,” she said, placing a hand gently over his plate. “Just eat until you’re 80% full. Don’t overdo it.”
Dalton raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between her and the pancakes. “Why is everyone else allowed to eat more than me?”
Wynter’s laugh was soft, almost teasing. “Let’s go and have some tea,” she suggested, clearly done with the meal.
“Okay,” Dalton replied, standing up from the table.
Before he could leave, Wynter handed him a handful of peanuts, the raw kind still in their shells. “Eat these with the skins. It’ll help.”
Dalton took the peanuts, eyeing them with slight disdain. He wasn’t the biggest fan of such snacks, but he didn’t want to argue. Wynter’s voice rang in his ears: The raw peanuts will be the last medicinal food of the day.
Ethan, who had finished his meal by now, couldn’t hide his surprise at how much Dalton had eaten. He had never seen Dalton so relaxed about food. In the past, Dalton’s appetite had been a constant struggle, and despite the best efforts of the most renowned chefs, nothing had really worked.
Today, however, Dalton had eaten with gusto. His face was fuller, rosier, and he showed no signs of discomfort. There wasn’t a hint of regurgitation. In fact, he was sweating, but it wasn’t from pain—it was from the sheer joy of enjoying food again.
Ethan’s heart swelled with an almost indescribable joy. He had to tell Dalton’s grandfather about this, he thought. He could already hear the praise he’d get for Wynter’s remarkable skills.
In the past six months, the Yarwood family had done everything to solve Dalton’s eating issues. They had hired chefs from Michelin-starred restaurants, tried countless remedies, and consulted experts. But none of it worked—until now.
Dalton, with a satisfied but curious expression, glanced at Wynter. “You really know how to make someone eat,” he said, his voice low but filled with appreciation.
Wynter gave a soft smile, a knowing look in her eyes. “I just did what needed to be done.”
And with that, Dalton felt a strange sense of calm—something that had been absent for a long time. The sense that perhaps, just perhaps, he was in good hands.
