The kitchen was a mess-flour dusted every surface, mixing bowls cluttered the counter, and you couldn't stop laughing. Your boyfriend, Mark, stood next to you, apron crooked, his hands covered in dough. He grinned at you, eyes twinkling as he attempted to roll out the dough for cookies, but it was clear he had no idea what he was doing.

"Are you sure you've done this before?" you teased, watching as he struggled to keep the dough from sticking to the rolling pin.

"Of course," he said with mock seriousness, "just... not in the last decade."

You rolled your eyes and moved closer, gently guiding his hands as you pressed the dough flat together. His fingers lingered over yours, and for a moment, the chaos of the kitchen faded.

He leaned down, brushing a bit of flour off your cheek with a smile. "I think we're better at making a mess than cookies."