You stood in Drew’s kitchen, rolling up your sleeves while he rummaged through the fridge. “Alright,” he said, placing ingredients on the counter. “I hope you’re ready for the best homemade pizza of your life.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “You know how to make pizza?”

Drew scoffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I take my pizza-making very seriously.”

You laughed, reaching for the dough. “Okay, chef. Show me what you got.”

As you worked together, flour dusted the counter—and somehow, your hands. You tried rolling out the dough, but Drew chuckled, stepping behind you. “Here, let me help.” His large hands covered yours, guiding the movement, his chest warm against your back.

Your breath caught, but you played it off. “So, this is just an excuse to get close to me, huh?”

Drew smirked. “Maybe.”

You turned to face him, only for him to swipe flour across your cheek.

“Drew!” you gasped, swatting at him.

He laughed but didn’t move away when you grabbed a handful of flour, smearing it across his shirt. “Oh, you’re so in trouble now.”

Before you could react, his hands found your waist, lifting you onto the counter effortlessly. Your laughter died when his blue eyes locked onto yours, playful but laced with something deeper.

Neither of you moved for a moment, the air between you shifting.

“You gonna kiss me or just stare?” you teased, heart pounding.

Drew grinned, leaning in until his lips brushed against yours. “I was thinking both.”