My spine tightens anyway.
I focus harder on the knife in my hand, the steady tap of blade against board.
After a moment, he moves on.
The tension lingers in my shoulders longer than it should.
A few minutes later, he passes again.
This time he stops fully in the doorway. I feel his attention on my back as I transfer cookies to a cooling rack, lining them up in neat rows. My breath goes shallow, muscles pulling tight.
Don't look. Don't engage.
I pretend not to notice him.
He clears his throat quietly—soft enough that it's almost an apology—and steps away.
Eli's eyes flick to the doorway, then back to me. He doesn't say anything, but his scent warms just a little, a quiet reassurance.
I move on to brewing coffee, filling the kitchen with a deeper, richer scent. The house shifts with it, moving from quiet to gathering.
Footsteps approach with less weight this time.
"I swear if you're here to micromanage—"
"I would never," Drake says, already chewing.
I turn just in time to see he's stolen a cookie straight off the tray.
"Drake. Those are for poker night."
He shrugs, entirely unapologetic. "I'm stress-testing them."
"The guys are going to be so disappointed if you eat them all."
He grins, crumbs clinging to his fingers. "That implies I care about their feelings."
I huff and swat at him with the towel. He dodgeseasily, laughing.
Despite myself, a smile slips out. Small. Real.
Drake notices immediately. His expression softens like he's been waiting for it.
"I missed this," he says quietly. "You baking. Being bossy."
"Someone has to keep you civilized," I reply, nudging him out of the way with my hip.
He leans in, mock-solemn. "For the record, I am being very good."
He steals one more cookie anyway and retreats, laughing when I threaten him with the spatula.
The warmth lingers after he leaves.
***
I balance the trays against my hip and nudge the living room door open with my shoulder.
The room looks different in that way it always does on poker nights—like the house has shrugged off its usual quiet. The coffee table is cleared and dragged closer to the couch. Folding chairs are pulled in. A green felt mat covers the surface. Poker chips sit in bright little towers. A couple decks of cards are stacked beside them.
