“Maeve?”
I closed my eyes for a brief second and smiled. “Of course it’s him.”
Twobble perked up immediately. “Keegan?”
“Yes, Keegan,” I said, already moving toward the door, smoothing my hands down the front of my sweater like that would somehow make this situation less ridiculous. “Because why wouldn’t he show up the one time my baking is out of control?”
“It’s just… mildly on fire.”
“You’re such a good cheerleader,” I said, smiling.
I reached the door and paused for a half-second, glancing back toward the kitchen where the pastry sat on the counter, golden and perfect and absolutely not behaving the way normal pastries should.
The flame flickered again, small and stubborn.
“Don’t do anything,” I warned it.
“Me or the pastry?”
I pulled open the door, letting the cool morning air slip inside. The scent of frost and fallen leaves wrapped around me, followed by something that made my skin prickle.
Keegan stood on the step, one hand still lifted like he’d been about to knock again, his expression easing the moment he saw me.
“Morning,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly over my shoulder as if he could already sense the chaos waiting inside. “Is something on fire?”
He sniffed a few times.
“Define fire,” Twobble joked behind me.
“Morning,” I replied, trying for casual and landing somewhere closer to suspiciously cheerful.
His eyes narrowed just slightly. “You’ve been up a while.”
“I’ve been experimenting,” I said.
“That’s never a sentence that ends well,” Keegan muttered, sweeping a gentle kiss along my cheek.
“Rude.”
Twobble popped up beside me. “She made a pastry.”
Keegan’s brow lifted. “A pastry?”
“A very impressive pastry,” I added quickly.
“With a fiery finish,” Twobble said.
I shot him a look.
Keegan’s gaze shifted past me again, curiosity winning out as he leaned just enough to catch a glimpse into the kitchen.
For a brief, quiet moment, everything held before his eyes landed on the counter.
On the pastry.
On the small, cheerful flame dancing at the top of it.
He went very still.
