She wore an apron tied around her waist, her slender frame moving with purpose.

Camila focused on setting aside the pickled meat while preparing the starch paste.

She printed out the recipe steps and stuck them on the wall, so she could refer to them while cooking.

Isaac entered the kitchen and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “What are you up to?" he asked softly.

Camila turned to see him, smiling warmly. "Fried crispy pork," she replied.

"New dish?" Isaac inquired.

Camila nodded. "Yes. I can't serve you vegetables every day, right? I need to expand my variety so you don't get bored.”

Isaac tried to hold her hand, but she pulled back. "My hands are all oily," she explained.

“That's fine," Isaac said, undeterred. He lowered his gaze and embraced her more tightly. “Let's skip cooking tonight and eat out.”

Camila looked at him in confusion. "I've prepared everything already. What's wrong? Did something happen at work? You look pale."

Isaac remained silent, holding her even closer.

He felt a little better with her in his arms.

Camila wriggled. “I'm running out of breath here. Let me go for a moment."

"I just want to hold you," Isaac insisted, his grip unyielding.

Camila felt helpless. “Since when did you start acting so clingy? You're just like Joe!" she exclaimed.

Isaac replied, “It's Joe who's acting like me. Remember, I'm his dad."

Camila was left speechless.

Sensing Isaac's foul mood, she stayed quietly in his arms without struggling further.

Joe suddenly rushed in. When he saw them embracing, he covered his eyes and said, "Sorry for disturbing you!"

Isaac turned to his son. "Come here."