"Good morning, Elias." Alex leaned against the kitchen door, inhaling the scent of butter and eggs, watching the tall skeleton busy inside.
Elias didn't turn his head; his hand continued to stir the pan evenly as he responded to the greeting: "Go get the milk at the entrance, Alex."
Alex nodded. He glanced around the kitchen but couldn't find a suitable opportunity to ask about what happened last night, so he had to temporarily put aside the curiosity in his heart.
He opened the main door, took the glass milk bottle still covered in morning dew placed on the mailbox. Elias accepted it and used his old method to warm the milk with the heat from his hands.
Following the nutritional menu recorded in that thick cookbook, he meticulously made Alex a chicken salad mixed with vegetables and two slices of bread pan-seared with golden butter.
