The kitchen glead like a cathedral of marble and chro, every surface immaculate, every tool in its perfect place. It was the kind of room that begged for precision, but within seconds of us walking in, it beca a war zone.
Aria dumped a pile of tomatoes onto the counter with dramatic flair. "Team Aria and Isa versus Team Stoic boss man and his loyal henchman."
Caron groaned. "Again with the teams? I am not—"
"Silence, Sidekick," Aria snapped, already brandishing a wooden spoon like it was Excalibur.
I bit down on my laughter, busy unloading the bags. Adrien was beside , his movents steady and efficient as he rolled up his sleeves. The simple act drew my attention like a magnet, veins shifting as fabric slid up his forearms. When he caught staring, his lips curved faintly—just enough to make my stomach flip.
"Stay near ," he murmured, barely above the hum of the overhead lights.
I arched a brow. "Afraid I’ll out cook you?"
His gaze lingered, heavy and warm. "Afraid you’ll get distracted and cut yourself."
Heat crawled up my neck at the softness buried in his tone. Before I could respond, Aria clapped her hands. "Alright! Isa, you’re on chopping duty with . Adrien, you and Sidekick can handle the stove."
Caron groaned louder. "Stop calling that!"
Aria ignored him, sliding a cutting board in my direction. I picked up the knife Aria handed , its polished blade gleaming under the bright lights. And then, Adrien reached out and collected the knife from . "Go and take a seat. You can supervise everyone instead."
My jaw dropped. Was he serious? He’d just... demoted to supervisor? The knife, still warm from my hand, felt like a symbol of my lost culinary cred, snatched away by a man who looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"No," I declared, crossing my arms over my chest. "Absolutely not. I am not supervising. I am a participant. I wanted to cook for you. If you hadn’t co ho earlier I will be holding more than knifes."
Adrien, still holding the knife, gave a look that was both amused and entirely too pleased. His lips twitched. "Oh, I have no doubt, my love," he murmured, his voice a low rumble just for , "and we will get to that later. But for now, I’d rather you kept all your fingers for... other activities." He paused, then added, "Unless you’d prefer to be the executive chef, delegating tasks?"
I glared at him, but the heat in my cheeks was already telling on . "I am perfectly capable of chopping!"
"Fine," he said at last, lips quirking like he already knew he’d won sothing I hadn’t realized I’d wagered. "Who am I to refuse my woman?"
He handed the knife back, the hilt brushing deliberately against my palm as if the transfer itself was intimate. His hand lingered over mine just a second longer than necessary, thumb grazing the side of my fingers, making my skin prickle and my throat tighten.
I turned sharply to the cutting board, trying to focus on the tomatoes Aria had piled high, but Adrien stayed close—too close. His chest hovered just behind my shoulder as though he were supervising every slice.
"Careful," he murmured, his voice warm against my ear. His hand ghosted along my waist, steadying though I wasn’t wobbling. The heel of his palm pressed lightly, anchoring in place.
My knife faltered for a fraction of a second. "I’m not careless," I muttered.
His answer was a soft hum, followed by a touch that was anything but innocent—his hand sliding higher along my side, thumb grazing the swell of my breast before retreating just as quickly, as if it hadn’t happened at all.
Heat shot through . My breath snagged. I darted a glance toward Aria, but she was too busy lecturing Caron about dicing onions properly to notice.
Adrien, of course, noticed everything. His lips brushed against the back of my ear, the whisper so low only I could hear it. "You look so beautiful."
The knife nearly slipped from my hand. My heart hamred against my ribs, loud enough I swore he could hear it. "Adrien—" I hissed under my breath, trying to sound chastising, but it ca out half a plea.
He only chuckled, a sound that vibrated against my spine. His hand returned, settling lightly on my hip, thumb tracing idle circles that made concentrating on the tomatoes damn near impossible.
I swallowed, my grip tightening on the knife. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"
Adrien’s chest rumbled with a low, dark chuckle against my back. "Enjoying what, mio piccolo diavolo?" He said. "Just making sure you’re paying attention."
I shivered despite myself. "To the tomatoes or to you?"
A beat of silence.
Then his lips brushed the shell of my ear. "...Does it matter?"
The knife clattered onto the cutting board.
I spun around, heart pounding, and jabbed a finger into his chest. "You’re distracting on purpose."
"Yes."
My mouth opened, then shut, because what coback could I possibly throw at that?
"You... you admit it?" I spluttered, my finger still jabbing into the solid wall of his chest. I’d expected a denial, a playful deflection, anything but that stark, straightforward confession.
Adrien’s lips curved into a slow, maddening smile, his eyes sparkling with amusent and sothing else, sothing deeper and far more dangerous. He didn’t move away, instead, he leaned in, closing the little gap between us. His gaze dropped to my lips, lingering there, warm and heavy. "Did you expect to lie, my love?" His hand caught my wrist before I could jab him again, pulling closer so my body brushed against his. "Watching you try to concentrate when I’m this close is..." His lips curved in the faintest smirk. "...adorable."
"Adrien—"
Before I could argue, his head dipped, and he kissed again—quick, searing, stolen. The kind of kiss that should never happen ten feet away from two people arguing about the al water, but it did. My knees nearly buckled.
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