I move to flip the pancake shortly after, when Levi decides he wants to give me his two cents.
“You’re supposed to wait until the batter is bubbling before flipping.”
I turn to him, tilting my head slightly. “Do you always narrate people cooking, or am I just lucky?”
“But you’re doing it wrong.” He says, his brows coming together.
I turn back to the pan to flip. “You’re more than welcome to leave, Levi.”
“And miss this disaster? Absolutely not.” He leans his elbow on the counter, before resting his head in his palm, watching on.
He is infuriating.
I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.
I flip the pancake. And it folds in half. Completely raw in the middle. Shit.
I hold up a hand. “Don’t you dare, Carter.”
I discard that pancake before trying again.
This time I just focus. Forget he’s even there. He’s nothing but a distraction.
I pour. I wait until the batter starts to bubble before using the spatula to flip - this time, successful.
I internally fist pump.
I hear Levi’s chair screech from behind me before he pads closer.
I feel him look over my shoulder before I hear him.
“That one’s actually decent.” He says softly, his breath lightly brushing against my cheek.
My heart skips a beat at the proximity.
Attempting to come off unaffected, I roll my eyes, though my lips pull up in a small smile.
I reach across to grab a plate, my arm brushing against his feeling his warm still lightly damp skin. It shouldn’t feel that good.
He coughs lightly, pulling away, his fingers grazing my arm as he does.
“I’ll just get some toppings.” He says as he walks off.
I snort to cut the tension in the room. “That’s so kind of you to get toppings for my pancakes. I’ll take lemon juice and sugar.”
“No way, that’s disgusting, Scarlett.” He scrunches his nose up.
I turn to him, placing my hands on my hips and tilting my head. My eyes narrow. “Well, isn’t it lucky I’m not concerned about what you want on pancakes.”
He whips around, his jaw dropping. “You weren’t going to make any for me? Scarlett, you’re rehabilitating me, you should be looking after me.”
I take that first pancake out of the pan and place it on the plate before turning to Levi to contemplate him over my shoulder.
“You’re a twenty-nine-year-old man. You can cook for yourself.” I retort before pouring my next pancake into the pan.
“I’m injured. You should be encouraging me to rest and not aggravate my shoulder!” He exclaims, gesturing to his shoulder.
Literal definition of a manchild. God help me.
