The kitchen’s finally quiet ovens cooling, lights dimmed, the hum of the city just outside the glass.

You’re perched on the counter, fork in hand, swiping a bit of whipped cream from the top of a pie that’s definitely still too warm. He catches you mid-swipe, towel slung over his shoulder, hair falling into his eyes.

“Seriously?” he says, mock-scolding, voice low but threaded with amusement. “Those were for tomorrow.”

You grin, licking the cream from your finger. “Consider it quality control.”

Carmy sighs, wiping his hands on his apron. “Yeah, well, my quality’s takin’ a hit if you keep”

You cut him off by swiping a bit of cream onto his wrist. “Oops.”

He stares at it, then at you, jaw tightening not angry, just trying not to smile. “You’re a menace.”

“Admit it,” you tease, “you like it.”

His smirk breaks through. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Maybe I do.”

You watch him move across the kitchen precise, graceful, that same rhythm he carries when everything else is falling apart. He grabs a dish towel, wipes at the counter, and glances up just in time to catch you staring.

“What?” he asks, voice gentler now.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothin’.”

You shrug. “You just… look different when you’re calm.”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s rare. Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

He stops in front of you, close enough for the scent of sugar and smoke to blur together flour dusting his knuckles, tension humming between every breath.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” he murmurs, smirk tugging at his mouth. “I burn easy.”

You smile, slow and knowing. “So do I.”

For a moment, the whole world’s just heat his hands braced on the counter beside your thighs, your breath catching when his lips find the corner of your mouth. It’s barely a kiss, more of a promise the kind that lingers longer than it should.

The ovens tick as they cool, and he finally leans back, still close enough for his grin to ruin you. “You’re trouble,” he says softly.

“Maybe.”

He tilts his head, eyes warm. “Then I’ll take seconds.”

And for once, there’s no shouting, no chaos just sugar, smoke, and a man who finally lets himself want something sweet.