He looks back.
Waits.
The stool is cold beneath my legs, grounding in a way the rest of this place isn’t.
Soren moves through the kitchen like he’s done it a thousand times. Fridge open. Pan out. Flame lit. Everything happens quickly, efficiently, with no wasted motion. No pauses. No uncertainty.
I catch glimpses as he opens cupboards, and everything in there seems well-organized as well. Clearly labeled in matching Tupperware containers. Lined up neatly like little plastic soldiers full of exotic flours and grains. Probably alphabetized or color-coded or following some kind of pattern I can’t see from my seat.
He doesn’t ask what I want.
Doesn’t ask if I’m hungry.
Doesn’t ask anything at all.
He just starts cooking.
Like feeding me was already decided.
I watch him for a moment, trying to make sense of it.
He has no idea of my breakfast preferences. Whether I’m more of a French toast or scrambled eggs girl. If I can endure cooked onions in an omelet. But that doesn’t seem to matter, because he doesn’t ask.
And then it hits me that this isn’t just about breakfast.
Or maybe itisjust breakfast and I’m overthinking.
When a guest stays over, it’s normal—hospitable—to cook for them. People do this all the time.
Right?
Jeez, get it together, Ivy.
He cracks eggs into a bowl, the sharp sound echoing softly in the quiet space. Whisks them with practiced ease. Adds cream. A pinch of salt—the fancy, flaky kind. Something green I don’t recognize.
The smell hits quickly.
Warm. Rich. Comforting.
My stomach tightens—not just with hunger, but with something deeper.
Because it feels good.
And I don’t trust anything that feels good anymore.
“You drink coffee?” he asks, not turning.
I nod. “Yeah.”
A quiet huff of amusement leaves him. “Of course you do.”
“What does that mean?”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes flicking over me like he’s reading something I can’t see. “It means you’ve been running on caffeine and adrenaline,” he says, “and calling it functioning.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m fine.”
“Sure.” The word lands lightly. Dismissive without needing to be.