Transmigrated as The Best Female Character of the Year

When Melody Monroe saw that it was Evan Fairchild who had walked in, the vegetables she was holding dropped to the floor.

Evan Fairchild bent down, picked up the vegetables, and placed them in the sink.

”Mr. Fairchild, you don’t have to. I’ll do it!” Melody Monroe said quickly.

”Mom, just let Mr. Fairchild help,” Ian Monroe called from outside. ”He’s eating too, so of course he should pitch in.”

Melody Monroe was truly at her wit’s end with her dear son.

Evan Fairchild glanced at Melody Monroe, showing no intention of leaving.

He didn’t say a word, and the atmosphere grew stifling.

Melody Monroe could tell he wasn’t in a good mood. She figured Ian must have dragged him here. To think he’d even gone grocery shopping... what an ordeal it must have been for him.

Melody Monroe didn’t dare ask him to leave. Glancing at his expensive white shirt, she took a nearby apron. ”Mr. Fairchild, maybe you should wear an apron?”

Evan Fairchild lifted his hands and stood still.

Looking at his pose, Melody Monroe realized he wanted her to help him put it on.

She walked up to him with the apron and strained to stand on her tiptoes, just barely managing to slip it over his head.

Suddenly, he bent down sharply, and the distance between them closed in an instant!

Melody Monroe’s heart clenched.

The tips of their noses nearly touched.

”Mr. Fairchild, it’s on,” Melody Monroe reminded him softly.

Evan Fairchild straightened up, and Melody Monroe quickly moved behind him to tie the apron strings.

It was just tying an apron, but she felt as if her heart was about to burst.

”What can I help with?” Evan Fairchild asked, looking at the pile of ingredients, unsure where to begin.

’I don’t actually need his help,’ she thought, but didn’t dare say so.

”Should we have chicken soup or stir-fry?” she asked.

”Stir-fry.”

”Then the chicken needs to be chopped.”

”How do you chop it?”

Melody Monroe put on the small apron she had bought for Ian, washed the chicken, and placed it on the cutting board. Just as she raised the knife to chop, a hand grasped her wrist.

”Let me.”

Melody Monroe was about to step aside when she suddenly felt warmth at her back as she was pulled into Evan Fairchild’s embrace. His long arms wrapped around her, holding the knife, poised to chop the chicken.

”Like this?”

Melody Monroe was too flustered to think; her heart was pounding, far exceeding its normal load.

Evan Fairchild suddenly raised the knife and brought it down on the chicken with a chop.

Startled, Melody Monroe subconsciously shrank deeper into his embrace.

Evan Fairchild observed her. ’So timid?’ He recalled reading online guides that specifically targeted timid girls.

”Isn’t this how you chop it?” Evan Fairchild asked.

Melody Monroe shook her head. Lifting the chicken, she pointed to its breast. ”First, chop it in half down the middle.”

Following her instructions, Evan Fairchild chopped the chicken in half.

”Now, chop it into smaller pieces, all roughly the same size,” Melody Monroe continued to guide him.

Evan Fairchild wielded the knife, chopping the chicken piece by piece.

The chicken pieces on the cutting board were all perfectly uniform—a satisfying sight.

After he finished chopping the chicken, Evan Fairchild set the knife aside. But he hadn’t held her long enough and didn’t want to let go.

”Does this meat need to be chopped?”

”That needs to be sliced,” Melody Monroe replied softly.

”How do I slice it?”

”That’s pork tenderloin. We can make sweet and sour pork with it. It needs to be cut into slices.”

Evan Fairchild took out the meat, gave it a quick rinse, and began to slice it.

Melody Monroe stared, stunned. The slices were also perfectly neat and uniform.

”What else needs to be done?”

”Maybe you should wash your hands first.” Melody Monroe could feel her back starting to sweat, her mind a hot, jumbled mess.

Evan Fairchild looked down at her.

Her ears and neck were flushed red, and a fine sheen of sweat beaded on her forehead. Her small face looked like a freshly bloomed flower.

’She looks shy,’ he thought.

’Don’t hold back your strengths. Create a sense of being both close and distant. The guide was right about that.’

’Looks like those online romance guides are useful after all.’

’At the very least, they’re far more reliable than Jasper Rockwell and Keith Coleman!’