The girl always sits right there at Table 5. 

I am the boy who makes food without the order.

I have always been able to do it.

Know what people need to eat, I mean.

Sunny, for instance, lost his mother.

I set the freshly made cookies down in front of them,

they smile. 

That smile makes me feel warm, happy, it makes me feel full,

Searing, frying, sautéing,
wiping sweat off my forehead,
crying because of onions
the things I do for a boy.
I hope he likes it.
The doorbell rings.
The door opens, he stands with a bouquet in his hands.

I made brownies and carefully placed choco chips on the top,

I carved your name in the raw top,

maybe I can grant your wish and be yours, 

perhaps I can wish you over with sweets.