Tina stood in the kitchen like a general preparing for war, hands on her hips, silver hair caught up in a messy bun that looked more like a tornado than a fashion statement. The counter was already cluttered with bowls, measuring cups, and ingredients scattered like confetti from a parade she hadn't been invited to. She squinted at the recipe on her phone.
"How hard can baking be?"
She muttered to herself, tilting her head, icy blue eyes scanning the steps as if the cake might suddenly obey her command if she stared hard enough. Andrew leaned lazily against the doorway, golden brown hair tousled, hazel eyes amused.
"Hard, Tina. Very hard. And maybe dangerous."
He smirked, clearly enjoying watching her attempt to tame chaos with a whisk. The faint, sweet pull of his pheromones—honey-laced warmth—tickled her senses, making her pulse skip. Tina huffed, trying to focus.
"I've got this."
