It starts with a recipe. One you swore you could handle — pasta from scratch, fresh tomato sauce, maybe even garlic bread on the side if things go well.

And then you saw the state of Dante’s kitchen.

“You don’t even own a cutting board,” you mutter, holding up a suspiciously scorched pan with a dent in it.

Dante, perched on the counter with a beer at 10:43 a.m., shrugs. “Don’t need one. Pizza doesn’t complain.”

“You’re a walking health code violation.” He raises the bottle lazily in your direction. “And yet, you still keep showing up.”

You shoot him a look, and he grins — cocky, effortless, a little smug — but he slides off the counter anyway and saunters over.

“Alright, Chef. Put me to work.”

You’re already elbows deep in flour when he joins you, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp like he actually tried to make himself presentable. Not that he needed to. He always looks unfairly good — even when he's wielding a wooden spoon like it's a shotgun.

“Okay,” you say. “You’re on sauce. Dice those tomatoes.”

He squints at them. “Define dice.”

You give him a knife. He pokes a tomato. "This thing’s squishier than a demon’s spleen."

“Please never say that in my kitchen again.”

He laughs and starts hacking away — badly. Very badly. You eventually have to step in and guide his hands from behind, your fingers over his, showing him how to hold the knife properly.

It’s ridiculous. It’s warm. It’s weirdly intimate. Your hands linger longer than necessary.

When you finally pull back, there’s flour on your cheek, and Dante smirks like he’s discovered a cheat code.

“You look good like this,” he says, voice low. “Kinda domestic. Dangerous.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide how hot your face feels. “Focus, Romeo. You’re burning the garlic.”

He panics and nearly drops the pan. You save it, barely.

He watches you from the side then — quiet for once, hands in his pockets, eyes softer than usual.

“You make this place feel… less empty,” he says eventually.

You turn to look at him. And even though he tries to act casual, his thumb’s twitching like he wants to reach for you.