Page 175 of Dream On, Liar

“Don’t.” Her voice cut through the quiet before I could even step in properly.

I paused instantly. Not because I was afraid of her tone. Because I recognised it.

That particular warning that meant I was currently holding something that may or may not be on fire and I need you to not make it worse.

“What?” I asked carefully.

She didn’t look at me.

Which, honestly, told me everything I needed to know.

“You’re not allowed to judge me.”

I glanced at the pan anyway. Smoke curled up from it in a slow, lazy spiral like it had given up trying to be subtle.

“I wasn’t planning to,” I said.

A lie.

A small one.

She finally looked over her shoulder at me, eyes narrowed. “Liar.”

I stepped further into the kitchen. “You love that particular word, don’t you?”

The floor was warm under my feet.

The kettle hissed softly in the background.

The whole room felt…alive.

“What are you making?” I asked.

“Breakfast.” I looked at the toast popping up from the toaster.

It was black. Not golden. Not even brown.

Black.

“That’s one word for it,” I said quietly.

Her eyes flicked to me immediately. “I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

I nodded solemnly. “I am very surprised. I thought you could cook. You’d done a great job yesterday.”

Then she huffed. “I can. My mind’s just not in it today.”

“That’s what you said about the eggs, yesterday.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Did I?”

“Yes,” I replied, closing the gap between us. “Just admit that you got distracted by the view, again.”

She immediately shifted, stepping sideways to block the pan from me like I was a threat to national security.

“I’ve got it,” she said firmly.

“Have you?” I asked.