They drove quietly through the city until the supermarket lights glowed into view. Ember sat still, her legs still too sore to move properly after everything that had happened. She blinked, then frowned softly, a laugh escaping her lips as she said, "I think I forgot... that I can't walk right now. So how am I supposed to get the groceries?"
Dylan glanced at her with that teasing glint in his eyes, the one that always made her heart race. "I think I have a plan," he murmured, then jumped out of the car before she could even ask what he meant.
Moments later, he returned—pushing a large shopping trolley toward her like it was a royal chariot. Ember's brows furrowed in confusion. "Why did you bring that here?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Be quiet, princess. You're the one who insisted on cooking tonight, and now you're backing out?"
"I'm not backing out," she pouted. "It's just... I keep forgetting my legs are useless right now."
"Exactly," he said with a knowing smile, "which is why I came up with a solution."
"What solution?" she asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached down, scooped her up effortlessly into his arms, cradling her close to his chest like she weighed nothing. The warmth of his touch made her skin burn beneath his hold, breath catching in her throat. Before she could protest, he gently lowered her into the trolley, his hands brushing along her thighs, lingering just long enough to make her blush.
"Dylan!" she gasped in embarrassment, her voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing?"
He chuckled, his tone low and mischievous as he draped his jacket over her exposed legs. The scent of him wrapped around her instantly—intoxicating, comforting, irresistible. "Getting us groceries. Now sit still, gorgeous. Let's go."
"No way," she hissed, cheeks burning red. "I am not going inside like this!"
He leaned down so his lips brushed against her ear, voice deep and laced with amusement. "But you invited the guests, didn't you? So we don't really have a choice." His smirk widened.
"You're doing this on purpose," Ember muttered, crossing her arms. "You're punishing me because I didn't listen to you and invited them."
Dylan kissed her temple softly, one hand resting possessively on the trolley handle. "You can think of it that way, if it turns you on."
"Seriously?" she mumbled, trying to look away—but her smile betrayed her.
He winked. "Deadly serious. Now hold on tight. I don't want my queen falling off her throne."
And with that, he pushed the trolley forward, proud and unbothered, as if parading his most precious treasure through the aisles of the world.
As they entered the supermarket, Ember sank deeper into the trolley, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Everyone's eyes seemed to follow her, and she couldn't stop fidgeting under their gaze. But Dylan, ever attuned to her unease, leaned down close—so close that his breath tickled her ear—and whispered in a low, velvety voice, "You don't have to be embarrassed. Do you know what they're saying? They're saying, 'What a sweet couple.'"
His words sent a shiver down her spine, and Ember's lips curved into a flustered smile as her cheeks flushed a deeper red. "I know... let's just get this done quickly, so we can leave early," she mumbled, trying to hide her face behind his jacket.
As they moved slowly through the aisles, Ember peeked up at him and asked, "So, what do you think I should make tonight?"
Dylan looked down at her with a crooked smile, "Honestly? I think it'd be better if we ordered something instead of you cooking."
Her mouth fell open. "You mean I'm not a good cook?" she snapped, her eyes narrowing with playful annoyance.
He chuckled, leaning on the trolley as he met her gaze. "I've had your cooking twice now... but I swear, each time you stepped into the kitchen, I got scared. It felt like something—or someone—was about to catch fire. You know the kitchen is a dangerous place, especially with you in it."
Ember laughed, the memory flashing in her mind. "You seriously never forget anything, do you? But don't worry. I've got a plan this time. I'll tell you when we get back."
Dylan arched a brow, intrigued. "Fine... I'll wait. But I'm holding you to that promise."
"You still haven't told me what you want to eat," she added with a smirk.
"I want something spicy," he murmured, his voice dropping a note lower, eyes glinting with something darker—something teasing.
Her heart skipped. "How about spicy chicken? I know how to make that."
"Sounds hot. Let's go with that," he said, deliberately dragging the word hot with a knowing grin.
As Ember listed off the ingredients, Dylan moved like a shadow beside her—picking up everything she needed without hesitation. His hands brushed against hers each time he dropped something into the cart, sending tiny electric jolts through her. Their playful banter blended with soft touches, teasing looks, and the warm, quiet intimacy that grew between them as they shopped together.
Once they were done, they loaded the bags and drove back toward the apartment. The silence between them was comfortable—filled with the kind of unspoken closeness only they shared. But just as Dylan turned the car toward their street, Ember suddenly tapped his arm.
"Wait… can you stop here?" she asked, her voice soft but eager.
He glanced at her, concerned. "What's wrong?"
Ember turned to look out the window, pointing to a small bakery glowing under the evening sky. "I want one," she said, eyes shimmering like a child staring at candy.
Dylan smiled, nodding immediately. "Okay. You stay here. I'll get it for you."
He stepped out, but before he could walk away, Ember called his name again.
He leaned back in through the open window, and she smiled shyly, biting her lip. "I want a chocolate one."
Dylan laughed softly, eyes lingering on her lips for just a second longer than needed. "Chocolate, got it," he said, then leaned forward and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Anything for you." Then he turned and disappeared into the bakery.
When he returned, holding the warm little pastry bag in one hand and a smug grin on his face, Ember's heart swelled. They continued the drive back in comfortable silence, her hand resting on his, fingers intertwined.
As they pulled up in front of the apartment, the front door creaked open—and there stood Emir and Adrien, already waiting for them.
"What are you doing here?" Dylan's voice was sharp, protective, the moment he saw them standing at the door.
"Hey now, that's kind of rude to say to your guests," Emir replied, raising an eyebrow.
Before Dylan could retort, Ember gently grabbed his arm, her voice soft but firm. "I invited them. So don't talk to my guests like that."
Dylan's jaw clenched for a second, but then he let out a breath and nodded. "Alright. But they're my friends too, which means they can help me." He turned to Emir and Adrien with an authoritative tone, "Go grab the groceries from the car. I'm holding Ember."
With a long sigh and matching expressions of dramatic suffering, the two friends turned and trudged toward the parking lot.
Dylan carefully lifted Ember in his arms, carrying her inside like she was made of glass. She relaxed against his chest, secretly enjoying the way he always took charge when it came to her. He gently settled her onto a chair near the kitchen counter, brushing her hair away from her face.
"Comfortable?" he asked softly, his fingers lingering at her cheek. She gave him a slight nod, heart fluttering.
Minutes later, Adrien and Emir returned, arms full of shopping bags. Ember gave them a sweet but mischievous smile. "Alright, time to help Dylan in the kitchen. I'll just guide you all through it."
Emir groaned. "You told us you were cooking. Why are we doing all the work now?"
"Can't you see I'm injured?" Ember pouted dramatically. "Every time I try to stand, my legs remind me of it. So, you three need to help me now."
Adrien smiled warmly and said, "Alright, I'll cook. You just sit there and boss us around."
Dylan and Emir instantly jumped in with playful rebellion. "Perfect. Then we'll sit and wait until he's done," Dylan said, already making his way toward the couch.
"Back in the kitchen—all of you!" Ember called out, her voice laced with a teasing authority.
Emir looked defeated. "I don't know how to cook," he grumbled.
Dylan gave her a pitiful puppy-eyed look. "You know me too... I don't know how to cook either."
Ember smirked, folding her arms as she looked at them. "Well, then I'll give all the instructions. That way I won't end up with indigestion from whatever disaster you create."
Adrien chuckled, unbothered by the chaos. "Alright, Chef Ember. What are we making?"
"Spicy chicken," she said with a gleam in her eyes. "So be good boys, and make it delicious. I'm trusting you."
As she smiled, lighting up the room with her happiness, Dylan stared at her for a long moment. That smile—it had a power over him no one else had. His voice dropped low, husky, teasing, "Alright then... let's cook. Tell us how to start, Ember."
His tone wasn't just playful. It was possessive. And laced with something else—something that promised later, when the guests were gone, he'd be the one setting her on fire in ways far spicier than chicken.
"Alright, listen up," Ember said, taking charge from her seat like a true queen commanding her loyal knights. "Dylan, you wash the chicken. Emir, chop the vegetables I brought. And Adrien, you're on sauce duty—make something spicy and sweet with honey, chili, and green onion."
The kitchen buzzed with activity as the boys stumbled into their roles. Emir fumbled awkwardly with a knife, clearly not used to the chore. Ember watched him for a moment, amused, then said softly, "Let me help you."
She leaned forward and took the knife from him, guiding his hand gently as they sliced the vegetables together. Her hand brushed against his, but before anyone could say anything—
"Hey baby, I'm done!" Dylan's voice rang out from across the kitchen, loud and possessive. "What next?"
Ember looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes teasing. "Now that you've figured it out, do it properly. Bring me the chicken."
Dylan walked over to her, placing the bowl of chicken in front of her. She looked up at him, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Let's marinate it."
She instructed him to add the spices one by one—paprika, turmeric, garlic, crushed chili—and then handed him the bowl. "Now mix it. With your hands."
Dylan's face twisted. "Wait… you want me to touch that mess?"
Ember laughed, her voice low and sweet like honey. "Yes, Dylan. You have to."
All eyes turned to him. Emir and Adrien were chuckling at Dylan's hesitation. But before he could protest further, Ember reached out, took his hand in hers, and plunged it into the mixture.
Their fingers intertwined inside the cold, wet marinade. A thrill ran up Ember's spine as she felt his touch—slow, deliberate. His thumb brushed over her palm, and she flinched, gasping softly. "Ugh…" The sound escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Flustered, she pulled her hand out quickly, breathing a little heavier. "Dylan… shift me closer to the stove."
Without a word, Dylan lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the counter by the stove. He set her down gently, his eyes lingering on her lips for a second longer than necessary.
"Just stand still and give me what I ask for," she commanded playfully.
Dylan smirked, stepping beside her like a well-trained soldier—but his eyes kept drifting to her thighs under the hem of her shirt, her soft breaths, the way she bit her lower lip while cooking.
Ember fired the marinated chicken in the hot pan, letting the sizzling echo through the kitchen. On another burner, she poured Adrien's sauce into a second pan, tossing in the chopped vegetables. The air filled with the sharp tang of chili and the sweetness of honey. As the final touch, she added the golden-brown chicken into the sauce, finishing it with a generous sprinkle of red chili flakes.
Steam curled in the air like desire rising between them.
With a proud smile, Ember plated the food—four hot, spicy servings, carefully arranged.
As she turned to face them, her cheeks flushed, lips curved with pride. The air in the kitchen was heavy with heat—not just from the stove.
And Dylan? He didn't care if the food burned—he was already tasting something far more addictive: her.
They all settled into the plush cushions of the sofa, their plates warm in their hands, the air filled with the rich, spicy aroma of Ember's dish. A cozy silence wrapped around them as the first bites were taken—soft clinks of forks, satisfied sighs.
Emir took a bite, paused, then looked at Ember with wide eyes. "Ember... you look like a professional chef when you're in the kitchen. The way you focus... you give off a completely different aura—strong, beautiful, and dangerously tempting."
Ember blushed, hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass.
Adrien chimed in, his tone surprised. "Yeah! I honestly didn't think you were this good at cooking, but this dish—damn, it's incredible."
Ember smiled modestly. "Thank you… I've always dreamed of opening my own restaurant after I graduate."
Emir leaned back, clearly impressed. "That's a great idea. And when you do, I'll be there every time I'm hungry. You're seriously awesome."
Her heart fluttered at the compliments—but her eyes drifted to the one man whose words she was really waiting for. Dylan.
He hadn't said a word. He was eating, yes, but he seemed far away. His eyes were dark, distant, his jaw tense as if caught in some private storm. Ember stared at him, hoping for a glance, a smile, anything—but he didn't meet her eyes.
Her stomach twisted, the warmth from earlier beginning to dim.
Trying to shake off the unease, Emir stood and stretched. "You know what's missing? A drink."
He headed to the kitchen and came back with bottles and glasses, pouring generously for everyone. They raised their glasses in a soft cheer, their voices blending in casual laughter.
Emir turned to Ember, offering her a drink with a teasing smirk. "Come on, Chef. Celebrate with us."
Ember shook her head gently. "No thanks," she murmured, her gaze once again drawn to Dylan.
But he wasn't looking at her.
He was there—his body beside her, plate nearly empty—but his presence felt... hollow. His eyes were cast downward, lost in a place she couldn't reach. It felt like he wasn't in the room at all.
And that stung more than silence ever could.
Her heart sank. She tried to smile, to play along with the others, but her chest felt heavy.
Something was off with Dylan—and she could feel it, like a slow shadow crawling under her skin.
Frustration burned in Ember's chest like a wildfire. Her eyes flicked to the untouched drink on the table—her pulse racing, her heart aching from Dylan's silence. Before anyone could react, she grabbed the glass and downed it in one swift motion.
"Ember, wait—" Adrien reached out to stop her, but it was already too late.
The alcohol hit her hard and fast. Within seconds, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, glowing like cherries under soft golden light. Emir and Adrien exchanged a knowing look—she was already drunk.
"Seriously?" Emir chuckled, raising a brow. "You're drunk from just one small glass?"
They both burst into soft laughter.
Ember narrowed her eyes, pouting. "Stop laughing at me. You're both being mean," she whined, her voice laced with a tipsy sweetness.
Then, without warning, she turned toward Dylan—who sat quietly beside her—and slid herself onto his lap. The room fell silent.
Dylan froze, startled by her sudden closeness. His arms instinctively circled around her waist to keep her steady. Ember's face was inches from his.
"Hello, Mr. Dylan," she said with a dramatic little smirk, her voice dripping with mischief. "Did you like your dinner?"
Dylan blinked, caught off guard by her tone. "Uh... yes, I liked it," he replied cautiously, completely unaware that she was drunk. Why is she calling me Mr. Dylan...?
Ember tilted her head, staring at him. "So you liked it, huh? Then why didn't you compliment me like Emir and Adrien did?" Her hands gently cupped his face, holding it between her palms, forcing him to meet her gaze.
Adrien gave Dylan a subtle nod and mouthed, She's drunk.
Realization dawned on Dylan instantly.
He exhaled slowly, a crooked grin forming on his lips. "So... you want a compliment?" he whispered, voice low and rough. "Fine. That dinner was amazing, Ember. It tasted incredible."
But Ember rolled her eyes, pressing a finger against his lips. "Shut up," she whispered with a soft giggle. "You're only complimenting me after I asked. That's not how a good boyfriend acts, Mr. Dylan."
She leaned in, her voice a sultry murmur in his ear. "Maybe I need to find someone better... someone who appreciates me."