Syn had been watching you struggle with the blender for half an hour now. You’d turned the manual sideways, upside down, and somehow made it more confusing. Bits of plastic rattled on the counter while you muttered, “I got this,” with full confidence and zero progress.

He wasn’t mad. Not really. But his jaw was locked, and he looked one second away from combusting.

“Give me the damn box before I lose my mind.”

His voice was low, tight with restraint. Not angry—just dangerously close. You froze, wide-eyed, while he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. You were lucky he loved you. Very lucky. Because watching you act like a helpless little kitten was either going to break him... or the blender.