POV: Elena
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The kitchen smelled like burnt garlic and disaster.
"Zayden, no—don't flip it yet!"
The pancake landed half-on the stove, half-on the counter.
He turned to me, a spatula in one hand and a sheepish smile on his face. "That was supposed to happen."
I snorted, arms crossed as I leaned against the counter. "You're hopeless."
"And you're bossy," he said, but his eyes twinkled.
I walked over and took the spatula. "Move over, CEO. I'll show you how it's done."
We stood close—shoulders brushing, laughter filling the warm kitchen. I caught him watching me as I poured batter into the pan.
"What?" I asked, smirking.
"Nothing," he said. "You just… look different here. Relaxed. Safe."
My heart skipped. I quickly turned back to the pan, trying to hide the blush creeping up my neck.
"I guess I am," I said softly. "Because for the first time, you're not lying to me."
He flinched—barely—but I saw it.
"It's going to take time, Zayden," I added. "But… I'm trying."
His hand brushed against mine gently. "That's all I'm asking for."
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Later that Night
POV: Zayden
The fireplace crackled softly. Outside, the moonlight danced on the lake. Inside, Elena sat curled up on the sofa in one of my oversized hoodies, her knees tucked under her chin.
She looked peaceful. Tired, but glowing.
I sat beside her with two mugs of hot chocolate and handed her one. "Extra marshmallows. Just how you like."
She smiled—a real one. "You remembered."
"Of course I did."
We sat in silence for a moment, sipping from our mugs. The air between us was charged—like something unsaid was humming louder and louder.
"I don't get you," she said suddenly.
I turned to her. "What do you mean?"
"You act like you're made of steel in the office. Cold. Untouchable. But here…" Her voice lowered. "You're warm. Real. Soft."
Only with you.
I didn't say it, but I didn't have to.
I leaned closer. My hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb brushing along her cheek.
"Elena," I murmured.
She looked up, lips parting.
And then we collided.
It wasn't rushed—it was slow, deep, and full of everything we hadn't said. Her fingers gripped my shirt as she leaned into me, and I pulled her onto my lap, her knees straddling me.
My hands traced her back, hers slid into my hair.
I kissed her like I'd never get to again.
And when she finally pulled back, breathing heavily, her eyes searched mine.
"Don't make me regret this," she whispered.
I rested my forehead against hers. "Never."
She pressed another kiss to my lips, softer this time, then curled into me as we laid back on the sofa, tangled together under the blanket.
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