It was one of those rare quiet days — no parents, no practices, no alarms. The house was all ours. Gaby had the music on low, scrolling through her phone on the couch while Jake lounged nearby, flipping through the TV with the volume down.

Around noon, both their stomachs started growling.

“I’m starving,” Jake groaned dramatically, throwing his head back over the arm of the couch.

Gaby looked up. “Same. I’m gonna make something.”

Jake sat up fast. “You? Cook? Gaby… you literally burned soup once.”

“That was one time!” she laughed, rolling her eyes. “Let me prove you wrong.”

Jake raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, but if I end up poisoned, I’m calling Mom.”

Gaby ignored him and headed to the kitchen, tying her hair up and throwing on an apron like she was in her own cooking show. Jake peeked around the corner, half-expecting chaos — maybe smoke, or at least something exploding.

But to his surprise, she actually moved with purpose: boiling water, dicing garlic, stirring sauce like she knew what she was doing. The smell? Incredible.

“Wait… is that spaghetti?” Jake asked, walking in cautiously.

“Yes, chef,” Gaby said dramatically, tossing a wooden spoon over her shoulder. “With homemade garlic butter and everything. You’re welcome.”

Jake sat at the counter, stunned as he took his first bite. “Hold on… this is actually… bomb. Like, what?!”

Gaby grinned and pointed her fork at him. “Told you. Put some respect on my name.”