The clatter of bowls, the hiss of woks, and the rhythmic chop of her knife against the cutting board had already faded into the quiet lull of late morning. The morning rush was over.
Gu Mianmian rolled her shoulders and exhaled as she wiped her damp forehead with the back of her sleeve. Her hands were still tinged with the scent of garlic and scallions; even after years of cooking, the aroma clung to her no matter how many times she washed.
Cheongsam, was perched on a stool by the counter, fanning himself with a makeshift paper fan. His cheeks were a healthier pink these days, the fever and growing pains that had plagued him for days finally behind them.
He'd eaten a hearty breakfast that morning without coughing once. That alone had been enough to ease the weight pressing on her chest.
"Older sister Mianmian.." Cheongsam called lazily, his long legs swinging back and forth, "the line this morning was crazy. Do you think it'll be like this every day?"
