Seven years of silence pressed against her chest. She’d left him with nothing but a wave and a lie about being fine.
Avery scowled. “Don’t laugh.”
He didn’t listen.
A slow, deep laugh rumbled out of him, a sound that wrapped around her and pulled her in. It hit her straight in the chest.
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Stop.”
He stepped inside, boots crunching on dried flour. “Aves… what were you trying to do? Summon a demon?”
“I was trying to bake.”
“Looks like the baking fought back.”
She threw a towel at him. He caught it easily, still grinning.
And for the first time since she’d come home, Avery laughed too.
It felt good. It felt dangerous. It felt like remembering.
Noah crouched beside the oven, frowning. “This thing’s overheating.”
“It hates me.”
“It hates everyone.” He tugged the oven door gently. “It’s warped. Probably hasn’t been serviced in years.”
“Like everything else in here.”
He glanced up at her, eyes softening. “You’re doing good, Aves.”
Her chest tightened.
He didn’t say things like that anymore. He didn’t say things like that to her.
He stood and tugged a screwdriver from his back pocket. “Hold this.”
She raised a brow. “You still walk around armed with tools?”
He shot her a look. “Prepared.”
“For what? Random appliance emergencies?”
“For anything,” he said, and the way he said it made her chest tighten.
She held the oven door while he worked, his shoulder brushing hers every few seconds. Each touch sent a warm, unwelcome flutter through her stomach.
He muttered under his breath as he tightened a screw. “This thing’s a death trap.”
“You’re very encouraging.”
“I’m honest.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stubborn.”
Their eyes met.
