Tommy glanced over his shoulder.
“Cookies. And maybe brownies. I don’t know. I blacked out halfway through.”
Chase laughed under his breath.
“You bake when you’re stressed?”
“I bake when I don’t know what to do with my hands,” Tommy said.
Logan pushed off the counter and moved behind him, resting his hands lightly at Tommy’s hips without interrupting what he was doing.
Grounding.
Familiar.
Tommy leaned back into it automatically.
Chase noticed.
Tommy noticed that Chase noticed.
And suddenly the kitchen felt smaller.
Logan’s voice came low near his ear.
“You gonna let him help?”
Tommy hesitated, not because he didn’t want to, but because the question carried weight beyond baking.
He glanced at Chase, who stood close enough now that Tommy could see the faint flush still sitting across his collarbone from the gym.
“Do you even know how to bake?” Tommy asked.
Chase shrugged.
“I can follow instructions.”
Tommy handed him a measuring cup without thinking.
“Then don’t freelance. That’s how you ruin everything.”
Chase smirked faintly but did as told, moving beside him at the counter.
For a few minutes, the kitchen settled into something surprisingly easy.
Chase measured ingredients carefully, glancing at Tommy for approval before pouring.
Tommy hovered slightly closer than necessary, correcting him once or twice, their shoulders brushing more often than either of them acknowledged.
Logan stayed back near the counter edge, watching the two of them move around each other.
Tommy could feel his eyes even when he wasn’t looking.
There was something warm about it.
Not possessive.
Appreciative.
