When the shop first opened, Liam Clark and Ryan Cooper were still in elementary school. Grace Miller, who ran the place out of personal interest, only opened on Mondays and Fridays. It was a private kitchen by reservation, with no set menu—everything was up to her. Customers came one after another, spreading the word, and soon there were more and more people. Many started booking a month in advance. Later, Grace Miller extended the business hours to four days a week, which also made it easier for the allergic Ethan Clark to have lunch.

Lunch was as sumptuous as ever. The white porcelain plates were piled high with golden, crispy lotus root balls. As soon as they were served, Ethan Clark snatched one up. With a bite, the outside was crisp and the inside tender, sweeter than meatballs. Compared to ordinary vegetable balls mixed with flour, the kneaded and simmered lotus root paste had a texture remarkably similar to meat—chewy and fragrant.

“Lotus root balls are the best meatballs in the world.” Ethan Clark hadn’t even finished before picking up a braised, fall-off-the-bone chicken foot and stuffing it into his mouth. The rich, red sauce coated the tender chicken foot, which melted away with a gentle suck.

More than one person had said that watching Ethan Clark eat was mouthwatering. Some even suggested he do eating broadcasts—just watching him eat could make anyone hungry.

Grace Miller came in carrying iced lotus root starch. “Was the opening ceremony fun?” She placed her hand on Ryan Cooper’s shoulder, but her eyes were on Ethan Clark. “How was Ryan Cooper’s speech today? Didn’t forget the words, did he?”

Ethan Clark, who had been eating like a little hamster, suddenly froze, his cheeks bulging.

“Oh no, you really forgot your lines?”

“No.” Ryan Cooper ignored Ethan Clark’s frantic winking and added a bowl of lotus root starch. “Something just happened.”

The chicken foot in Ethan Clark’s mouth suddenly lost its flavor.

No way, we agreed not to talk about it.

“What happened?” Grace Miller looked curious.

Ryan Cooper glanced coolly at Ethan Clark. “It was him.”

“Liam Clark? What about Liam Clark?”

Ethan Clark panicked, his eyes darting between Ryan Cooper and Grace Miller, shaking his head in advance to distance himself. “I didn’t…”

“He wasn’t wearing his name tag and got called out and criticized.” Ryan Cooper took a sip of lotus root starch and looked up to see Ethan Clark’s shocked face. “He was almost late, too.”

That wasn’t quite the explanation he’d expected.

“Name tag?” Grace Miller exclaimed softly. “Ah, that was me. I took them off when I did the laundry and must have accidentally put both name tags in your brother’s room. My fault, my fault.”

She looked apologetically at Ethan Clark, then noticed the name tag on his chest. “Hey, how did you get it back on?”

Ethan Clark explained sheepishly, “My brother got it for me.”

A server called from outside, and Grace Miller hurried out. Ethan Clark breathed a sigh of relief and looked anxiously at Ryan Cooper, who had covered for him.

“It was all my fault for messing up your speech. I’m sorry, I won’t eat the wrong thing next time.”

The lotus root starch was chilled. Ryan Cooper ate a small bowl, feeling much better and less irritable, but when he heard this apology that missed the point, his expression cooled again.

Was the problem really about interrupting the speech?

But Ethan Clark looked so pitiful that he suppressed his anger and asked, “Where’s your medicine?”

Caught off guard, Ethan Clark paused and explained quietly, “I ran out of the old one. I brought a new bottle today, but didn’t have time to open it before going to the gym, so I left it in the classroom.” He added, “I didn’t expect to have an attack…”

Ryan Cooper shot back, “Did you ever think about what would happen if I wasn’t there today?”

The question left Ethan Clark stunned.

If Ryan Cooper hadn’t been there today, he really would have been in danger—with such a high dose of allergens.

He said nothing. Ryan Cooper continued coldly, “I can’t always be by your side.”

“Why?” Ethan Clark frowned at him.

The threat of an allergic reaction didn’t scare him as much as the thought of Ryan Cooper not being there someday.

“I’ll carry my medicine every day from now on. This won’t happen again.” Ethan Clark lowered his eyes. “I really mean it.”

Ryan Cooper didn’t want Ethan Clark to keep apologizing. Just thinking about what happened today made it hard to control his emotions.

But after a moment of silence, he didn’t say anything more. “Eat.” He served another bowl of lotus root starch, then used a porcelain spoon to pick out the goji berries from the lotus root starch and put them in another bowl.

Having grown up together for eleven years, Ethan Clark could read Ryan Cooper’s tone perfectly. When he said that, it meant the matter was over. Relieved, he happily agreed and picked up his chopsticks, piling spicy and sour lotus root stems onto Ryan Cooper’s plate. “Eat this.”

This was Ryan Cooper’s favorite dish since childhood. It didn’t need complicated seasoning—the crisp, tender texture beat any other vegetable. Lotus root stems are the young, unexpanded lotus roots, about the thickness of a finger, white, tender, and slender. They’re sliced diagonally and stir-fried with dried chili peppers, then finished with a splash of aged vinegar before serving. The holes soak up the sauce, making them crisp, tangy, and spicy. This aquatic vegetable is only available in summer; after September, it’s gone. It’s so delicate that it doesn’t keep well during long-distance transport, so many cities never get to taste it.

“If only we could eat lotus root stems all year round.”

Hearing this, Ryan Cooper pushed the bowl of lotus root starch in front of Ethan Clark, his tone flat: “If you had it every day, you wouldn’t think it tasted so good.”

A short season is what makes it precious.

When you see something every day, the novelty and anticipation fade.