"Perfect!" Beth exclaimed. "Let it cook for another minute or so, then it'll be ready."
I watched as it cooked through, feeling an unexpected sense of accomplishment. When Beth finally declared it done, I slid it onto a plate and handed it to her.
"Here you go," I said awkwardly.
She took a bite and smiled brightly. "Delicious! Now make one for yourself."
I hesitated but then followed her instructions again—cracking eggs (more successfully this time), whisking them smooth, seasoning just right, pouring into the pan with growing confidence.
As my own omelette took shape, Beth leaned against the counter watching me with approval in her eyes. For once in my life—standing there cooking breakfast with someone who didn't mind my inability to fucking cook—I felt like maybe things could be all right after all.
But there was still that nagging thought in my head...
Her eyes were on me as I flipped the omelette onto my plate. She gave a nod of approval, and for a moment, I felt a strange sense of pride. We sat down at the small kitchen table, our plates steaming with fresh-cooked breakfast.
I took a tentative bite. It wasn't half bad. The cheese melted just right; the tomatoes adding a burst of flavor. "Not bad," I muttered, more to myself than to her.
"Told you so," she said, her smile wide and genuine.
As we ate, the silence between us felt different—less like an awkward pause and more like a comfortable break. Beth hummed softly again, that same tune I'd overheard before.
"You write songs often?"
Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Sometimes. Just for fun."
"Sounds nice," I murmured. "You should share 'em more."
She shrugged, looking down at her plate. "It's personal. And I'm not sure if they're any good."
I found myself wanting to encourage her, something I hadn't felt in a long time. "From what I've heard, they're good."
Her eyes met mine. "Thanks, Daryl."
We finished our meal in a companionable silence. Once done, Beth stood up and began clearing the table. I followed suit, taking the plates to the sink.
"Let me wash these," she offered.
"Nah," I said gruffly. "You've done enough. I'll handle it."
She didn't argue, just stepped aside and watched as I scrubbed the dishes clean. The repetitive motion was oddly soothing, giving me time to process the morning's events.
"You know," she said after a while, leaning against the counter again, "I really appreciate this."
"Appreciate what?" I asked without turning around.
"Being here," she said softly. "With you."
Her words hit me harder than I'd expected. Letting someone in wasn't something I did easily—or often—but there was something about Beth that made it feel... okay.
I finished the last dish and dried my hands on a towel before turning to face her. "You're persistent," I said with a half-smile.
She laughed lightly. "You have no idea."
The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. For the first time in years, it felt like maybe this place could be more than just where I lived—it could be home.
"Oh," she said suddenly, a hint of excitement in her voice. "I grabbed you something."
She walked over to a bag I hadn't noticed earlier and pulled out a wreath. It was bright and colorful, covered in small ornaments and a big red bow.
