"Classic. Can't go wrong with that," he said, nodding approvingly.
As we continued to chat, the evening slipped by in a comfortable haze of shared stories and laughter.
"My first cooking disaster was epic," Ashton chuckled, leaning back slightly. "I once nearly set my apartment on fire trying to make scrambled eggs. Apparently, high heat and butter aren’t always friends."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Oh, that’s nothing! I once attempted a soufflé that defied all laws of physics. It didn’t just collapse; it imploded into a dense, inedible puck. We used it as a doorstop for a week."
"A doorstop!" he roared, genuine amusement in his eyes. "Well, that certainly beats my flaming toast. Speaking of memorable food, have you ever tried anything truly... adventurous?"
"Oh, definitely," I said, a grimace playing on my lips. "I once had durian fruit in Southeast Asia. The smell alone nearly knocked me over. Tasted like rotten onions mixed with gym socks, but somehow sweet."
Ashton shuddered dramatically. "Sounds ghastly. I suppose my most ‘exotic’ might be a fermented fish dish. It was... an acquired taste. The aroma alone could clear a room, but the locals swore by its restorative properties."
The evening slipped by in a comfortable haze of shared stories and laughter.
In the midst of our conversation, Ashton suddenly stood up. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, striding over to the counter where he picked up the bouquet I'd forgotten about.
"These are for you." He handed them to me with a slight sheepishness in his voice. "I saw them at the florist when I was out getting my stuff and thought they'd look good on your table. A thank you for breakfast."
I blinked at the vibrant blooms cradled in my hands, their colors bright against the soft lighting of thekitchen. "I thought the food was a thank you," I said softly.
He shrugged, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in a chuckle. "Well then, maybe I'll just have to join you for breakfast again tomorrow."
A warm flush spread through my cheeks at the thought. "You're always welcome," I said, a smile playing on my lips. "I'll make pancakes." The thought of sharing another meal made me all light and bubbly.
Ashton tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "I have a better idea. How about I make you some of my famous bacon pancakes?"
I laughed, genuinely curious. "What in the world are bacon pancakes?"
"You'll find out in the morning," he promised with a grin that told me it would be worth the wait.
After dinner, Ashton stood up, collecting plates. "Let me help you with the dishes."
"Sure," I said, although part of me wanted to insist he'd done enough already. However, I wasn't ready for him to retreat to his room just yet. We moved to the sink, a comfortable silence settling between us as we worked side-by-side.
Suddenly, while rinsing a plate, my hand slipped, and water splashed across Ashton's shirt. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry." I gasped and bit back a laugh.
"Hey, no fair," he said, flicking water back at me with his fingers.
Before I knew it, we were laughing, dodging sprays of water. As I tried to block a well-aimed splash from Ashton, my hand slipped again, sending suds flying up to my face.
"Looks like you got yourself a foam beard." Ashton chuckled, reaching over with a hand towel.
"Thanks," I said, but as he wiped the soap bubbles away, our laughter faded, replaced by a sudden stillness.
Our eyes locked, and I was acutely aware of how close he was, his breath warm on my skin. I could count the faint freckles dusting his nose and see the tiny droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. I stood frozen, unable to look away or even breathe properly.
"Erin?" he whispered, his voice low and rough.
"Yeah?" My reply came out as barely more than a breath.
"Breakfast. Tomorrow," he said, his smile returning as he stepped back, creating a much-needed distance. "Don't forget."
"I won't." He turned and headed upstairs, leaving me alone in the kitchen, wondering if my knees had always felt this wobbly.
Chapter 12
Ashton
