She didn't want to pay any more attention to Nash, ready to leave. Just as she turned, she caught Nash looking at her.

He said, "It'll be ready soon. Are you hungry?"

Nina halted her steps, facing him squarely. "I only care about when you're leaving," she replied.

Nash evaded the question, saying, "We'll eat in ten minutes."

Nina saw him turn away, focusing on the dish he was preparing, evidently avoiding addressing her question.

Ten minutes later, Nash emerged with a small pot of chicken soup. Placing it on the table, he wiped his hands with a towel and looked at Nina. "Come over, it's ready," he said.

Nash had meticulously prepared for two hours, sticking to the pregnancy recipe. It appeared as if he had come to terms with

seat opposite him. Nash lifted the lid off the pot, releasing steam infused with the savory scent of

just the two of them in the room

ladle into the pot. "I noticed you were following a pregnancy

expression shifted slightly, revealing a hint of awkwardness. Cooking wasn't challenging, but preparing such a substantial dish for the first time was a new experience for him. "I made some for you,"

any trace of his previous insistence on her having an

expression darkening for a moment before he

soup but refrained from drinking it immediately. "Are you truly doing this willingly? I recall how eager you were about me getting an abortion before. Why the sudden gesture of kindness with the chicken soup?" She had to be

to Miranda. Did you put anything

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