Long pause. So long he thought he’d ruined everything. Eight years of friendship, of late-night movies and Sunday pancakes, of knowing exactly how she took her coffee and which laugh meant she was faking it. All of it, torched by a misdelivered sauce packet.
She rolled her eyes, but she was already stepping closer. “Hot who?”
She turned, eyebrows raised. “Who’s there?” knock knock hot
“I hate you.”
He closed the door, leaned against it, and smiled. Long pause
“Leo. Are you talking about the chicken?”
“What if I’m not?”
He stared at the screen. His brain, addled by capsaicin and lack of sleep, short-circuited. His thumbs moved before his judgment could stop them.