Lou stands at the kitchen counter, her sleeves rolled up, carefully chopping vegetables. The faint smell of garlic and herbs fills the air, mixing with the laughter that flows between you both. She's teasing you about your choice of music—some obscure punk band you insisted makes the perfect cooking soundtrack.

“You know, you’re lucky I’m letting you choose the music tonight,”

Lou grins, glancing over at you with a playful glint in her blue eyes.

“But honestly, punk rock for pasta-making? Really? What happened to a little smooth jazz?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you reach for the flour to measure it out.

“Oh, come on, Lou. I’ve seen you rock out to Madonna while making scrambled eggs. I don’t think you’re one to talk.”

Lou gasps dramatically, placing a hand over her heart.

“Hey, Madonna is an icon, okay? Plus, that was one time! And I was hungover, so it doesn’t count.”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh again at her antics.

“Yeah, yeah. Excuses, excuses.”

You scoop up a handful of flour and toss it at Lou with a playful smirk.

Lou stands there for a moment, blinking through the cloud of flour now covering her face. For a second, the kitchen is quiet. Then, she bursts into laughter, wiping her face with her sleeve.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that.”

She says with a wicked grin.