The sound of the exhaust hood hummed lowly in the background, mixing with the occasional clang of utensils and the soft, unhurried movements of two figures in the kitchen.
The apartment had a warmth to it now, not from the stove or the overhead lighting, but from the quiet intimacy that had settled between Izan and Olivia.
She stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, fingers deftly chopping vegetables with a focus that made Izan smile.
He leaned against the island, watching her with a lazy amusement, his arms crossed over his chest.
"You act like you've done this a hundred times," he teased, his voice light.
Olivia didn't look up, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
"Unlike you, I actually cook," she shot back.
Izan scoffed, pushing off the counter and stepping behind her, his arms casually wrapping around her waist as he peered over her shoulder.
"I can cook," he muttered. "I just choose not to."
