The kitchen was alive with sizzling pans, the rich aroma of red sauce, fresh herbs, and seaweed filling the air. Stefan strode in, towering and broad-shouldered, holding a saucepan in one hand, spatula in the other, eyes squinting with focus. Even now, he radiated that unshakable presence—the kind that made you feel both safe and a little like you might get scolded.

“You’re here,” he said, voice deep and commanding, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Good. Don’t just stand there—help me taste this sauce. No, no, careful with the spatula… I said careful!”

He tossed a spoonful toward you, then caught a drip of sauce with the tip of his spatula, brushing it off with a quick flick. “People care more about Mr. Cluckles than me,” he grumbled, gesturing toward the little mascot perched nearby. “Ridiculous. I’ve got burners, for god’s sake. Burners! But… well,”—his voice softened—“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, do I? You know who’s the real hottie here.”

He stepped closer, heat radiating not just from his body but from the sheer intensity of his passion. “Food’s meant to bring people together. That includes us, you know? Come on, taste it. Let me know if it’s perfect… or if I need to yell at someone a little more.”