Chapter 328: The Perch Had Already Been Cleaned by the Shop

The perch had already been cleaned by the shop, but Clara Whitmore still wasn't satisfied. She held the fish under running water, rinsing it thoroughly, even scrubbing away the bloodstains from its gills.

Her fingers pinched a small knife as she meticulously scraped away any remaining blood from between the bones. Her movements were gentle, as if handling a delicate piece of art.

The fish soaked in a mixture of scallion-ginger water and white vinegar to remove any fishy odor while keeping the flesh tender. The prawns had their antennae trimmed, their backs slit, and veins removed before being neatly arranged on a plate, ready for cooking.

Elias Mercer rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing toned forearms. He stood by the sink washing vegetables, the water cascading over vibrant green leaves and splashing onto his wrists.

"Since when do guests do the work?" Clara shook her head with a smile.

"A willing guest," he replied without looking up. With swift, precise cuts, the carrot transformed into uniform matchsticks.

The kitchen filled with the subtle aroma of scallions and ginger. Clara lifted the perch from its bath and patted it dry with a paper towel. She dipped her fingers in cooking oil and lightly coated the fish.

Elias stood nearby, his gaze lingering on her slender fingers. "Need any help?"

"Could you grab the steaming rack for me?"

The rack hung in the cabinet above Clara. As Elias stepped closer, she caught the faint scent of cedar from him.

When he reached up, his chest nearly brushed against her back. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the tips of her ears turned pink.

"Here." As he handed her the rack, their fingers accidentally touched.

Elias's hand hesitated for a fraction of a second.

"I'll take it from here," Clara said, her voice softer than usual as she accepted the rack.

The kitchen suddenly felt more spacious. She exhaled slowly, realizing even the air had cooled.

Twenty minutes later, the fragrance of steamed perch filled the house. Elias had already set the table, even arranging the placemats with precision.

"There's still the soup," he said, turning toward the kitchen, his posture straight as a pine tree.

Clara opened the fridge, where two cans of beer sat untouched. As she reached for them, she met Elias's questioning look.

"Bought them when friends visited," she explained instinctively, then immediately wondered why she felt the need to justify it.

Amusement flickered in Elias's eyes. "I have an experiment this afternoon. No drinking for me."

"Then I—"

"You're not drinking either." His tone left no room for argument.

Clara obediently returned the beer, like a child caught misbehaving.

At the table, she suddenly stood, cradling a bowl of soup in both hands. "Professor, thank you for lending me your lab. Without your help, I might still be stuck."

The bowl glowed warmly under the light.

"That was your own effort," Elias said, watching her. "I just provided the space."

But Clara knew it was far more than just "space." His lab housed confidential materials, yet he'd given her unrestricted access. That trust was more valuable than any assistance.