I yank my bedroom door open and step into the kitchen, prepared to fight for my sanity, my caffeine, and my last shred of peace.
Joel is standing at the stove, flipping something in a pan with way too much ease, like this ishisapartment andhismorning routine, and I’m just some visitor in his domestic fantasy land.
His hair is a tangled mess, his sweatpants are hanging loose on his hips—something I totally didnotnotice—and he’s barefoot, which for some reason annoys me more than anything else.
“What,” I say, voice still rough from sleep, “the actual hell are you doing?”
Joel barely glances at me before returning his attention to whatever he’s cooking.“What does it look like, Ace?I’m making breakfast.”
I squint at him.“For who?”
He grins.“Us.”
I snort, heading straight for the coffee pot because it’s full and I might need a weapon.“Absolutely not.”
Joel flips the spatula dramatically, sending something golden brown into the air before catching it.“Wow.So much hostility so early in the morning.It’s almost like you don’t appreciate my efforts.”
I glare at him, yanking the coffee pot off it’s warmer with more force than necessary, then slam it back into place.
I hate how good it smells.
I cross my arms.“Did you poison this?”
Joel turns off the burner, feigning deep thought.“Depends.Do you consider a dash of cinnamon poison?”
I blink at him.“Cinnamon?”
He sighs dramatically.“Yes, cinnamon.It brings out the flavor of the beans.Now, I know what you’re thinking.We’re eternal enemies, doomed to cohabitate under one roof for the next couple of weeks.Whyon earth is he making me a delicious breakfast and coffee that tastes like it was blessed by the gods?”He picks up a plate and gestures toward me.“So, want some pancakes, or should I throw these in the trash in a fit of heartbreak?”
I narrow my eyes at the stack of perfectly golden pancakes sitting on a plate.I have to admit, I’m slightly impressed—more than I should be.My stomach, the traitor, tightens with interest, but I ignore it.“Go to hell, Price.”
He gestures at himself.“Me?What did I do?”
“You exist.That’s enough.”
“I forgot you arenota morning person.”He throws his head back and laughs, and I hate that my stomach does something weird over it.
I cross my arms.“Did you even buy this food?Or did you justforagefrom my kitchen like some kind of musical raccoon?”
Joel places a hand over his heart, like I’ve just mortally wounded him.
“I’ll have you know, I bought it.I do have money, you know,” he says, pointing toward a reusable grocery bag sitting on the counter.“See?Eggs, coffee, butter, all mine.You should be thanking me for upgrading your kitchen staples.You didn’t even have real milk, Anna.Not everything has to be a Korean staple.”
“I don’t drink almond milk because it’s Korean, dumbass,” I say, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.“Some of us don’t trust cow juice.”
His eyebrows lift.“Cow juice?”
“Don’t act like that’s weird.You were literally just singing to your pancakes.”
Joel grins again and leans against the counter, watching as I hover next to the coffee pot, waging an internal war.
I could pour a cup of coffee.
The pot is right there and I’m clutching my cup like a lifeline—which, to be fair, isn’t far from the truth.
The wake-up juice is already made…
I bite the side of my lip, deliberating.