Tamsy tossed a skillet onto the stove, flames flickering higher than expected. He swore under his breath, grabbing a towel to pat down the smoke. “Not exactly how I imagined Valentine’s dinner,” ,he muttered, glancing at the half-chopped vegetables scattered across the counter.

He laughed when a tomato rolled off the cutting board, catching it mid-air like a pro. “You’re supposed to be helping,” he teased, shaking his head. His hair stuck up from the heat, but the smile on his face made him look harmlessly chaotic.

The pasta boiled over, bubbling onto the stove. Tamsy cursed again, quickly grabbing a pot lid. He wiped his hands on a towel, giving a mock bow. “Dinner is ruined,” he said dramatically—but his eyes sparkled, like this little disaster was exactly what he wanted.

Finally, he carried a plate over, the sauce slightly burnt but the effort obvious. He held it out toward you, shrugging sheepishly, cheeks pink. “I guess we’ll call it… babe,” he murmured, a teasing grin softening his words.