“Okay,” I muttered, chuckling to myself. “This is fine. This is totally fine.”
I had just poured a second glass of juice (with a little less pulp, thank God) when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see Nick walking in—barefoot, hair a mess, and somehow still managing to look like sin in sweatpants.
He stopped in the doorway, blinking at the disaster I’d tried to disguise as breakfast.
“What’s all this?” he asked, voice rough with sleep and laced with amusement.
I straightened up and tried to keep my face serious. “Your breakfast,” I said, proud and slightly mortified all at once.
He took a few steps forward, eyes sweeping across the chaos I’d lovingly plated. That familiar smirk curved his lips—the one that always made my stomach flip.
And just like that, it didn’t matter that nothing had turned out the way I’d planned.
Because the way he looked at me? Like the mess was perfect? That made all of it worth it.
Nick stepped closer, and—of course—my heart did that stupid little flip it always did whenever he was near. The way the morning light hit his bare chest made me pause like a deer in headlights. The hard lines of his abs stood out against sun-warmed skin..
He moved with the kind of lazy confidence that should’ve been illegal. Broad shoulders. Sharp abs. That smirk that made me want to both slap him and climb him.
“Good morning,” he said, leaning against the counter like this wasn’t the set of Nailed It: Kitchen Fire Edition.
Before I could say something—anything—the smoke alarm screamed to life above us, blaring like a pissed-off banshee. I jumped, nearly spilling the juice, and flailed for the nearest dish towel like I was about to wave it in surrender.
“Great timing!” I shouted over the noise, frantically fanning the alarm like my life depended on it.
Nick didn’t even flinch. Just looked up at it with that maddening smirk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Trying to kill me already?” he asked, voice smooth and totally unfazed.
I groaned and kept waving the towel, feeling like a complete idiot. “I swear it wasn’t part of the plan!”
Finally, the alarm gave a petulant beep and went quiet. I lowered the towel, catching my breath as I turned to face him—only to find him still watching me like I was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.
He arched a brow. “So… what exactly is this culinary masterpiece you’ve created?”
I looked at the table—burnt toast, overly cinnamon’d pancakes, eggs that had given up halfway through their journey—and tried to sound proud. “A breakfast fit for a king?”
“You’re lucky I’m not picky,” he said, stepping forward and eyeing the plate like it was a challenge.
With a dramatic shrug and a devil-may-care grin, he grabbed a plate and plopped down at the table like I hadn’t just nearly burned his apartment down. My heart thudded in my chest as he picked up a pancake, gave it a suspicious sniff… and took a bite.
I held my breath.
His eyebrows shot up—and for a second, I wasn’t sure if that meant he loved it or had just discovered a new level of suffering.
Then he swallowed, looked up at me, and said, “Tastes like Christmas threw a tantrum. I kind of like it.”
I burst out laughing. And just like that, my culinary disaster didn’t feel like a disaster at all.
He raised one brow and grinned. “I just didn’t know it was possible to pack this much cinnamon into one pancake.”
That earned a snort from me.
“But hey,” he added dramatically, taking another bite like a brave soldier, “it’s definitely the best terrible breakfast I’ve ever had.”
Laughter spilled out of me before I could stop it, warm and unguarded. I slid into the chair across from him, tucking my legs under the oversized shirt I’d stolen from his closet. “So you’re saying it’s bad.”
“No,” he said quickly, waving a hand like I’d deeply offended him, even while stuffing more pancake into his mouth. “It’s just… unique.”
I bit back another grin as I watched him. There was something oddly comforting about the whole thing—him half-naked, me in his clothes, the table cluttered with culinary crimes, and neither of us pretending to be anything other than exactly what we were in this moment.
