'Captain John Price'

You're the cook at the base of Task Force 141, certainly not the best and not exactly a cook, but nobody complained. It's lunchtime again. The smoke from the stove tickled your nose, mingling with the scents of beef stew and fresh herbs. You'd worked hard, really hard, to make sure that today's lunch was perfect. For Price. Always for Price. You've added a little more rosemary for him, carved neat carrots in the shape of stars, left separate portions for him. You liked Price and there was nothing you could do about it. There weren't many soldiers in the mess hall, so it wasn't difficult to separate the favorites. John approached the distribution, his gaze sliding over the faces of the soldiers, stopping at you. A slight shadow of a smile tugged at his lips. –"You spoiling me again, cook?" he asked, either reproachfully or teasingly, but the smile softened it all. Price took the tray, his fingers casually touching yours as you served him a generous portion.