The kitchen smelled of sizzling eggs and butter. Amara hummed softly as she whisked, standing barefoot in Daniel's shirt, its sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The fabric was far too big on her, but that was the point—she felt cocooned, safe, claimed without a word spoken.
Behind her, Daniel leaned against the counter, arms crossed, pretending to supervise. In truth, he couldn't take his eyes off her.
"I have to admit," he drawled, "seeing you in my shirt is more dangerous than anything Chike could ever throw at me."
She turned, spatula in hand, and narrowed her eyes. "Are you going to help, or just stand there staring at me like I'm the breakfast?"
"Who says I'm not hungry for both?" His grin was wicked.
She smacked his arm lightly with the spatula, trying to hide her laughter. "You're impossible."
"Impossible for anyone else, maybe." He caught her wrist and tugged her gently toward him. The spatula clattered onto the counter as she found herself pressed against him, her back against the kitchen island.
His lips hovered a breath away, teasing. "For you, Amara, I'll always be possible."
Her laugh dissolved into a sigh as he kissed her, slow and unhurried, deepening until her knees wobbled. She clutched his shirt, torn between scolding him and melting completely.
"You'll burn the eggs," she murmured against his lips.
"I'd burn the whole kitchen if it means another minute like this," he whispered back.
Her heart thudded in her chest. It wasn't just his words, but the sincerity in them. Daniel wasn't like Chike, who had taken and demanded. Daniel gave. He cherished. And it terrified her how quickly she was falling.
When she finally pulled away, cheeks flushed, she picked up the spatula with a mock frown. "Sit down before I throw you out of your own kitchen."
He chuckled but obeyed, settling at the small table. From his chair, he watched her finish breakfast with a softness in his eyes that made her pulse race.
Minutes later, she set a plate in front of him. "Eat. You need strength if you're going to keep up with me."
He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, so that's a challenge?"
She bit her lip, trying to suppress her grin. "Maybe."
The meal passed in laughter and playful banter, but underneath it all, there was something more—an unspoken promise forming between them. Every smile, every touch, every stolen glance said the same thing: we're in this together.
After breakfast, Daniel reached across the table, taking her hand. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, his expression turning serious.
"Amara." His voice was low, careful. "I don't want to rush you. But I need you to know… whatever happens, I'm not going anywhere."
Her chest tightened, tears pricking her eyes. No one had ever said that to her—not in a way that felt true. She squeezed his hand, her voice soft but steady. "Then I guess… I'm not going anywhere either."
Daniel smiled, and in that moment, it wasn't just romance. It was a beginning.
⸻
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