Childhood Memories and Chicken Chop
Childhood Memories and Chicken Chop
Louis‘ lips curved. “What’s the other one?”
“A kid got dropped off at the wrong kindergarten by his uncle. When the girl cried This isn’t my school,‘ the uncle thought she was faking to skip class. He shoved her inside yelling Get in there, no playing hooky!” Freya’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “The poor kid waited until his uncle left, then found staff to help transfer him to the correct preschool.”
She recalled her own experience. “I copied other kids crying on my first day too–but by day two, I was telling sobbing classmates Relax, we’re going home this afternoon whether you
want to or not.”
“You were adorable.” Louis‘ expression softened with his own memory. “My kindergarten days were all intensive skill–building. That’s where I met Asher–we ran that place like mini mob bosses. Terrible temper back then. Couldn’t hit anyone, but found creative ways to annoy kids who crowded me. Yet they kept coming.”
“Bet you were a doll–faced little tyrant.” Freya pointed her fork at him. “Kids forgive anything for cute faces. Mom said I was popular too–though I preferred building block towers alone
in corners.”
“Proof you’ve always been lovely.” Louis said it with such sincerity her ears pinked before she shook it off.
“Speaking of childhood–here’s something hilarious.”
“Do tell.”
“In pre–K, when my parents asked about my expected test scores, I said ‘Double hundreds. Got scolded for scoring a ninety–eight in one subject.” She threw up her hands. “But I’d only heard classmates say ‘double hundreds–assuming that was the only possible result! Total injustice.”
Her real point came next. “It shows how adults assume kids know basics they’ve never been taught. Like in second grade…”
She paused for tea.
“When I transferred schools in second grade, I fell asleep during the entrance exam. The teacher collected my unfinished test–I kept saying I wasn’t done!” She mimicked her childhood indignation. “Ended up with the worst score of my life.”
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Chapter 230 Childhood Memories and Chicken Chop
A sigh. “My parents were furious–both about the grade and the napping. But how was supposed to know exams had time limits? Teachers assumed everyone just knew Classic adult logic–kids get blamed for rules no one explains.”
Louis said thoughtfully. “Never happened to me, but you’re right. We’ll make sure our children understand these rules clearly.”
Freya nearly choked.
Our children? We’re still not even in a relationship!
The food arrived–her coveted chicken chop alongside enough sides to stock a diner Juices, boba tea, fruit platters, and six different appetizers covered the table.
“You ordered all this?”
I’d only requested one entrée.
Louis nudged the steaming container toward her.
“You need proper nutrition to heal. Chicken chop alone won’t cut it.” His long fingers made quick work of the packaging–unwrapping fork, piercing juice box straws, arranging everything within her reach like a surgeon prepping instruments.
Freya peeked at his identical meal. “You got chicken chop too?”
“Keeping you company.” Only then did he open his own box, the savory aroma of soy- marinated chicken filling the space between them.
Throughout the meal, his fork darted across dishes–extra mango slices here, that spicy cucumber salad she’d nearly finished there. Freya’s chest tightened.
noodles–so All my favorites. I’d memorized his coffee order, his distaste for cilantro, but never realized he’d been cataloging my preferences too. That meticulous removal of every scallion strand from my unnecessary, so unbearably tender–threatened to undo me completely.
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