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I moved closer and inspected the first few cuts. The pecans were annoyingly uniform.

“You’ve done this before,” I said.

“I help Julie cook.”

“How often?” I asked.

Patty dumped flour into a bowl, sending a white cloud into the air. “Not enough,” she said. “He still forgets meals unless threatened.”

“I’ve improved,” Hudson replied.

“You did complete a food challenge tonight,” I pointed out.

“Which counts as several meals,” he said.

Patty wrinkled her nose. “You two have made eating foreplay.”

I nearly dropped the measuring cup.

Hudson laughed.

“It’s not foreplay,” I said.

Patty added butter to the flour mixture. “You ask him what he ate with more intensity than most people ask about sexual history.”

I sighed. “I happen to care whether he remains alive.”

Hudson set down the knife. “That was romantic.”

“It was practical.”

“Practical concern is her love language,” Patty said.

I pointed at her. “I’m going to take away your crust privileges.”

She covered the bowl with both arms. “You can’t remove me now. I’ve bonded with the dough.”

Hudson leaned toward me. “It does look like she’s bonded with it.”

“The two of you are impossible.”

He smiled.

We worked through the recipe in a noisy, disorganized rhythm that usually would’ve annoyed me. Patty used the wrong spoon twice. Hudson kept wiping the counter before I finished measuring ingredients. I misplaced the vanilla, found it beside the sink, then accused both of them of moving it before remembering I’d put it there.

Neither of them cared.

Neither of them watched me with disappointment.

Neither of them asked why I hadn’t organized the process more efficiently.

Instead, Hudson handed me what I needed before I requested it. Patty stole pecans from the bowl and insisted that taste-testing raw ingredients was quality control. Flour collected on the counter, the floor, and the front of my shirt.

The kitchen was crowded and warm, and laughter filled my apartment.

The place had spent years containing only my music, my work, and the sounds of one person moving through rooms designed for more.

I’d never understood just how empty it felt until people began filling it.