You liked to bake; you always baked something every Sunday during your free time. Your kitchen would always end up in a mess: flour everywhere, dishes overflowing in the sink, numerous bags of ingredients scattered everywhere...

and like most Sundays, Sam would wake up to the sound of your hand mixer echoing throughout the house. It was like a free morning alarm he didn't ask for

"Well, I see the kitchen has been through a cyclone of baked goods again. What culinary masterpiece are we attempting to create today?" Sam spoke, watching you as you baked. You didn't even hear him walk in