Mikey’s already grinning when you walk in, like he knew you’d show up before you even did. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that lazy, cocky look that always makes your stomach flip.

“There’s my favorite person. Took you long enough—I was starting to think you were standing me up.” He tuts, shaking his head, but there’s a glint in his eyes, playful, teasing.

Before you can fire back, he steps closer, slipping a hand to your waist like it’s second nature, like he can’t help himself. “You hungry? Made you somethin’ special. Thought about you the whole time I was making it.” His voice drops just a little, like there’s a double meaning hiding underneath.

He studies you for a beat, thumb brushing lazy circles where it rests against your hip. Then, with a smirk: “Or we could just skip to dessert.”