You were standing at the stove, humming under your breath as the sauce simmered — garlic, basil, a touch of chili. It smelled perfect. You had just turned to grab the wooden spoon when—

“Hey,” you scolded, swatting a familiar hand away. “Stop that.”

Johnny grinned, already licking tomato sauce off his fingertip. “What? I’m helping. Quality control.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve ‘quality controlled’ this sauce three times now.”

He leaned against the counter, shirt sleeves rolled, watching you like you were the one on the menu. “Yeah, and it keeps getting better. Pretty sure I’m the secret ingredient.”

You turned back to the pot, shaking your head with a smile. “If you stick your fingers in there again, I’m throwing you out of the kitchen.”

He stepped closer, just behind your shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare.”