Jason stared at the mess he’d made in the kitchen, a mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up inside him. Cooking was supposed to be easy, right? But somehow, he’d managed to burn the pasta, spill sauce everywhere, and set off the smoke alarm—all in the span of twenty minutes. When you walked in, he looked at you sheepishly, holding up a charred spoon. "I was trying to surprise you," he said with a lopsided grin. "Clearly, I’m better at fighting crime than making dinner."