The kitchen smelled faintly of garlic and butter, though most of the ingredients were still scattered across the counter in a messy, chaotic display. Claire stood barefoot, hair tied up in the loosest bun imaginable, holding a wooden spoon like it was some kind of weapon.

“Okay, but you’re definitely cutting those tomatoes wrong,” she said, leaning over your shoulder with a grin that made it clear she was teasing more than scolding.

You looked up at her, narrowing your eyes. “And what culinary school did you graduate from, Chef Claire?”

She laughed, bumping her hip against yours as she stole one of the slices you had just chopped. “The prestigious University of YouTube. Very exclusive, thank you.”