My Chef Husband Refused to Cook for Me but Fed My Student Chapter 07

My Chef Husband Refused to Cook for Me but Fed My Student Chapter 07

Life at the MTF is far quieter than I ever imagined.

No blaring emergency alarms, no constant page bells ringing down every corridor.

The pace here is slow-slow enough that I can finally sit down for a proper meal, sleep through a full night without interruption. I can get to stand by my office window and watch the soldiers train every afternoon.

The military mess hall food was surprisingly decent.

Every morning, there was warm creamy grits, warm buttermilk biscuits, soft-boiled eggs, simple pickled veggie relishes.

and

Lunch came with four savory sides and a house soup, while dinner rotated different meals every day. Even the patient meals were way better than the takeout I’d survived on for seven years

straight.

The head base cook here makes incredible comfort food. He knows I have a sensitive stomach, so he always sets aside a mild, clean broth just for me.

It only took a week here for color to return to my cheeks.

The head nurse pulled me aside once.

“Seren, you looked washed out gray the day you arrived. You’ve finally got some life in your cheeks

now.”

I smiled and said nothing.

Every single afternoon, I stand at the office window and gaze out at the training grounds for a while.

Soldiers run formation laps, hammer through strength drills, swing on pull-up and parallel bars. Their loud shouts echo all across the base.

That raw, vibrant vitality makes me grateful just to be alive. It feels nice to go unnoticed, too.

No one nags me for coming home late.

No one complains about the antiseptic scent clinging to my scrubs.

No one pushes me to order takeout every night.

I only need to look after myself-eat on schedule, take my meds, sleep when I’m tired.

Everyone says the stomach is tied straight to your emotions. My chronic gastritis barely bothers me anymore, even without pills.

One midday, I headed to the mess hall as usual. The second I stepped through the doors, a strange,

familiar aroma wrapped around me.

The room hummed with more chatter than normal. A long line snaked in front of the serving counter, everyone clutching empty trays, their faces lit up with excitement.

The mess hall server handed me a tray of egg noodles, grinning ear to ear. “Doc Seren, you’re in for

a treat today.”

I glanced down.

Just a simple tray of egg noodles.

Light clear stock, thin hand-stretched noodles, fresh leaf greens, one runny poached egg, topped with a dusting of chopped chives.

It looked totally unassuming, almost no oil floating in the broth-way plainer than the regular

mess hall meals.

“Just this?” I asked with a faint laugh.

A young soldier sitting nearby was slurping noodles nonstop. He lifted his head when he heard me,

dead serious.

“Doc Veyra, don’t judge it by how plain it looks. This tray of noodles is the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Another soldier nodded hard beside him. “For real, it’s unreal. No one knows what broth base he

used, it’s insanely flavorful.”

I lifted a strand to my lips and took a bite.

The second the noodles slid across my tongue, I froze. The broth was clean yet rich, savory without feeling heavy. The noodles held a perfect firm chew, clearly hand-stretched fresh that morning.

Chopped chives let out a soft scent in the warm stock. The runny yolk from the poached egg spilled out and swirled slow through the broth. It was incredible.

I set my fork down and asked a question I knew I shouldn’t.

“Who made these noodles?”

The soldier scratched the back of his neck, thinking hard.

“Some famous chef visiting the base for a community outreach event. His name’s… Ren

something.”

“Renner.”

“Yeah, Chef Renner! You’ve heard of him too, Doc?”

All appetite vanished in an instant.

I set my fork down along the edge of the tray and stared at the noodles.

Light clear stock, thin egg noodles, leaf greens, poached egg, chopped chives. Exactly the birthday egg noodles I’d wanted that morning.

Two months late.

On the walk back to my office, a voice called out behind me.

“Seren.”

I stopped in my tracks, but I didn’t turn around.

That voice was too familiar. I’d thought I’d forgotten what it sounded like. But the second it hit my ears, my heart skipped a beat.