5.4

Lucien Whitemore was not a man who admitted defeat. 

But after weeks of dropping increasingly unsubtle hints—

"Some alphas at the office being homemade lunches. Must be nice." 

"The cafeteria food is terrible." 

"I wonder what it's like to eat something homemade at work."

—and Andrew responding with nothing more than polite nods or mild sympathy like- 

"That does sound difficult." 

"Maybe you should try a different restaurant?"

And even a hesitant "Should I...research corporate catering services?"

Lucien had reached his limit. He's tried everything. Everything except outright begging. And just telling andrew. 

He needed a new strategy. A ...detour. 

And so, during his weekly dinner with his parents, he saw his opportunity. 

His mother, Eleanor Whitemore, the matriach of the whitemore family. 

"Andrew's cooking has improved," Lucien remarked casually, swirling his wine. 

Eleanor's glanced up. "Oh? He's always been quite skilled, hasn't he?" 

Lucien hummed. "Mmm. It's a shame he only makes meals for the house. I wonder...how lunch made him tastes. Shame I don't get to eat it enough."

His father, Richard, snorted into his wine. 

Eleanor's eyes gleamed. "Oh? Does he not cook for you often?" 

Lucien let out a carefully measured sigh. "He cooks every day. But he never packs me lunch." 

Eleanor blinked. "And you want him to?" 

Lucien scowled. "I didn't say that." 

Richard coughed into his napkin. 

Eleanor smiled, slow and knowing. "I see." 

Two days later, Eleanor "coincidentally" dropped by their house while Andrew was in the middle of baking. 

"Andrew, darling," she said, sweeping into the kitchen like a benevolent hurricane, "you've outdone yourself again. The house smells divine." 

Andrew flushed, wiping flour off his hands. "Thank you, Mrs. Whitemore. Would you like some tea?" 

"Please." She settled at the counter, watching him with hawk-like precision. "And- call me mom. You and Lucien have been married for almost an year, no?"

Andrew nodded. He was slightly awkward, cheeks flushed shyly, "...alright, mom."

Eleanor grinned. She watched as he served tea, her eyes following every movement. After a small pause, she said, faux concerned, "You know, I was just thinking—Lucien looks SO thin lately." 

Andrew paused mid-pour. "He does?" 

Thin? But- Wasn't Lucien complaining about gaining a few pounds some days earlier and accusing Andrew's 'overbearing baking hobby'? He didn't voice that, letting her continue. 

Eleanor nodded gravely. "Positively gaunt. I worry he's not eating properly at the office." 

Andrew frowned. "At the office?" He furrowed his brow in concentration. "He did mention the office food hasn't been that good lately..."

Eleanor nodded, almost too eagerly. "That's what I'm talking about. Poor Lucien... Forced to eat that..."

Andrew nods, but a throught struck him. "Wait...but if it's not up to his liking, can't he..change it? It's the Whitemore HQ, after all?"

Eleanor's smile didn't flinch. She swore unwards- forgot about that. She lowered her voice, speaking in an almost conspirational tone. "You're too naive, dear. It's not that simple. We have to consult shareholders, board members-" she heaved an exxaggerated sigh. "It's a lot of people to consult."

Andrew tilted his head, not exactly satisfied with the explanation. He pointed out, "but- isn't better catering better for everyone? Why would anyone refuse...?"

Eleanor's smile didn't waver. "You're too pure, dear. Some people are very... Stingy. They won't agree. Lucien really is out of options, poor thing..."

Andrew's brief furrowed. Hmm, sounds legit. What awful people. Poor Lucien. "That does sound awful.... But Lucien didn't ask me to do anything...? And he said he was fine-"

Eleanor waves that off. "Oh, my dear, you know how alphas are. They'll say they're fine even when they're wasting away." 

Andrew bit his lip, glancing at the freshly baked rolls cooling on the rack.. Lucien did have a habit of not saying things. And unlikely idea finally struck him. Should he-? But last time, Lucien refused so firmly.... 

Finally, he muttered, "...Should I… pack him lunch?" 

Eleanor's eyes sparkled. "What a wonderful idea-"

Another problem arose. Flashbacks of the last time andrew tried to pack Lucien lunch flashed before his eyes. He sighed, "No... That won't work. Lucien said he doesn't like cold food..."

Eleanor, by sheer luck, anticipated this arguement. And she was no quitter. Her son was getting the damn lunch tomorrow. She slammed a bag in the table with a smile. "Oh, what a coincidence. I just got this super insulated keeps food very fresh lunchbox for you. I'll say it's almost fate at this point, really."