Ash made a quiet smacking noise with her lips as I pulled the spoon away, clinking as it hit the edge, dipping back into the now shallow pond inside a bowl… and I'm just over here playing diligent caretaker thinking just how much do the tables really love to turn and invert, don't they?
It's usually me bed-ridden and enfeebled, usually me seeing my meals served at bedside atop gleaming silver trays… except I wasn't that impeccable a cook than this prodigal Masterchef that I was now currently spoon feeding a lukewarm bowl of soup to instead of the five-star culinary delights I was usually accustomed to.
But hey, she's slurping down every serving, and licking her lips after every gulp. It can't actually be that bad, right?
Before long, I was finding myself scraping the bottom of the bowl barely even scooping up a spoonful for her to eagerly savor, and just like that, Ash had finished her meal with a breathy sigh of genuine satisfaction.