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“You? Cook?” He laughs. “You remember that time we tried to make sushi, and you almost chopped your finger off?”

“Thanks for reminding me. But I mean it.”

“Alright, I got you. But I expect your full attention and dedication in the kitchen. No slacking off.” He points his finger at me.

I grin, my sour mood from earlier vanishing. With Brandon’s help, I’ll cook something amazing for Lil. She won’t be able to resist the food or me. And it’ll be enough to finally breakdown the walls between us, bringing us closer than ever before. If not. Breaking into her room, still stands.

Back at our house, in the kitchen, Brandon immediately starts barking orders like a drill sergeant. “Alright, grab the rice noodles and let them soak. We need to marinate the chicken, too. Chop the shallots and garlic. Thinly slice the chicken.”

“Remember, Bash, cooking is an art,” he says, guiding my hand to flip the chicken pieces. “You can’t just throw things together and expect it to taste good.”

“Right, because that’s what you do.” Connor sits at the counter, watching the spectacle.

“Watch it, wise guy,” Brandon says.

I scramble to follow his rapid-fire instructions, not used to seeing this serious side of him.

“Connor. I hate you.” Brandon hands him a spoon. “But you’re on taste-testing duty—no pressure.”

“So I’m gonna be the only one with food poisoning? Great.” Connor takes it.

“Under my instructions, it can only be perfect,” Brandon says.

Connor nudges my shoulder. “I bet Lil never thought she’d have a famous quarterback cooking dinner for her.”

“Speaking of which,” Brandon interrupts, gesturing towards the stove. “Time to check the seasoning. Give it a taste.”

Connor dips a spoon into the sauce, hesitating before placing it in his mouth. His eyes widen, and he nods. “Damn, Bash. That’s actually good.”

“Well done, padawan.” Brandon clasps my shoulder. “She’s going to love it.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.” I grin, buoyed by the small praise. Cooking is methodical and satisfying—no wonder Lil enjoys baking so much.

“Just name your firstborn after me, and we’ll call it even,” Brandon says.

“How about I cook more often instead?”

“Nope, I would like the food to be edible,” Connor says.

“Hey. This turned out good.”

“Yeah, because Brandon was like that rat in Ratatouille.”

“Yeah, let’s leave the cooking to me.”

I pack the food up and shoot a look at Connor. “Is she still there?”

Connor plucks out his phone and nods. “Like she didn’t move an inch.”

“Is he with her?”

“Nope. Still alone.”

With the container of food in hand, I head out toward the library. You’re not getting away today, princess.

I stride into the library, the container of Pad Thai held securely in my hands. The smell wafts up, making my stomach grumble. Damn, I don’t want to jinx it, but this smells good.

The library is quiet, almost too quiet. It’s like stepping into a different world. Is that why this is her favorite place? A place to escape reality? The shelves loom tall, filled with countless books that I’ll probably never read. Bookworm heaven.

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