Ivy Holden led Erick Winters to the dining table after they washed their hands.
Jensen Morrison rushed to sit down next to Ivy Holden.
"Jensen, serve Erick some soup," Brooke Morrison said, handing him a ladle.
The soup, a pickled radish and old duck concoction, had been simmering all afternoon thanks to Mrs. Cheney. The broth was clear and fragrant, rich and savory, with glistening yellow duck fat and tender, succulent meat.
Jensen took the ladle and, with a cold expression, served Erick a bowl of pickled radish soup. The clear broth contained three pieces of pickled radish and not a single shred of meat.
Erick Winters sighed inwardly and forced an awkward smile. "Thank you. How did Mr. Morrison know I don't eat duck? So thoughtful of you."
"Oh dear, you don't eat duck? I'm so sorry. Mrs. Cheney, could you bring another bowl and get Mr. Winters a different soup?" Brooke Morrison said, giving her childish son a discreet slap.
