I laugh, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Is that how your barter system works? Clothing for breakfast?”
“Only with you.” He winks and heads to the fridge, pulling out milk and eggs like he owns the place.
“Wow,” I say, pouring the mix into a bowl. “You’re just going to start cooking like you do this all the time?”
He grins. “I’ve made breakfast here before. You were just too busy avoiding me to notice.”
I pause, turning to face him. “That was... before.”
His smile softens. “Yeah. It was.”
There's a moment between us, thick with something new—something warm and full of possibilities. Then he wiggles the egg carton at me. “Want me to crack these or are you still pretending I’m just the guy who paints walls and fixes light bulbs?”
I raise a brow. “You forgot ‘tattoos feelings onto people for a living.’”
He grins. “Oh right. And now? I make pancakes too. I’m basically husband material.”
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, but I’m laughing as I hand him a whisk.
He leans in close, voice dropping just a little. “But you’re smiling.”
“I am.”
“And wearing my hoodie.”
“I am,” I echo, cheeks warm.
He bumps my hip with his. “That’s a win.”
We move around the kitchen like we’ve done it a hundred times—him teasing, me pretending to be annoyed when I’m actually enjoying every second. It’s easy. Comforting. Real.
And maybe, just maybe, we’re both starting to believe this could be the beginning of something worth holding onto.
We’re halfway through flipping pancakes—Elijah is way too proud of his perfectly golden stack—when there’s a sudden knock at the door.
We both freeze.
He looks at me. “Expecting someone?”
I shake my head.
Elijah wipes his hands on a dish towel and gestures toward me with an exaggerated whisper. “Should I hide? Do you want me to do the ‘run out the back door in boxers’ thing? Classic secret romance move.”
I swat him with a spatula, laughing. “You’re fully dressed and you live ten minutes away. Nobody would believe it.”
He grins. “True, but it would make one hell of a story.”
The knock comes again—louder this time, and followed by a voice. “Ava? Are you alive? Did that horrible date guy kidnap you? Do I need to call in reinforcements?”
I blink. “Oh no.”
Elijah raises a brow. “Mia?”
“Yep.” I sigh, rush to the door, and crack it open just enough to peek out.
Mia stands there, hair pulled into a messy bun, holding two iced coffees like she’s delivering urgent emotional support. Her eyes go wide when she sees me. “You are alive! I was worried you fell off the planet after that disaster of a date—”
Her voice cuts off as she leans just enough to peek inside... and sees Elijah, flipping a pancake in my kitchen like he does this every Saturday.
