POV: Ava Ren
I burst into the mansion like a caffeinated squirrel, tossing my bag onto the couch with all the grace of a tornado. "I'm making dinner!" I declared.
From somewhere, a poor staff member whispered, "God help us all."
"Kitchen!" I yelled like a general commanding an army. "Let's go, Alex! Dumpling time!"
"I'm not hungry," came the monotone response of one (1) emotionally constipated CEO.
"You will be, once you smell the soy sauce." I grabbed his hand like we were in a drama and dragged him to the kitchen. He didn't resist. Probably knew there was no escaping Hurricane Ava.
I tossed him a pink apron with tiny strawberries.
He caught it. Blinked.
"No," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"No."
"Yes."
A beat.
He wore the apron.
Staff Gasps.
Maid #2 dropped a spoon. The butler squinted suspiciously. The head chef held up a camera very discreetly.
I got to work like a five-year-old let loose in a cooking show. Flour in my hair. Chili oil on my sleeve. Dance breaks between chopping spring onions. I accidentally flung a dumpling wrapper into the air and yelled, "BONSAI!" as if that made it okay.
Alex stood by the stove, stirring the pot with the enthusiasm of a tax inspector doing karaoke.
"You're doing great, babe," I chirped. "Gordon Ramsay could never."
He gave me a look.
I smiled wider.
"Okay okay, taste test time!" I fed him a dumpling with chopsticks.
He bit in.
Paused.
And then he smiled.
SMILED.
Like… with actual lips moving and teeth showing and everything.
The kitchen went silent.
I swear time stopped.
The maid gasped. The head chef dropped a pan. Somewhere outside, a bird probably fainted.
"DID HE JUST—?!"
"I THINK—"
"He smiled," whispered the gardener, peeking through the kitchen window.
"Write this day down," muttered the butler. "Frame it."
Meanwhile, I was on cloud nine, twirling around like I just won the lottery. "Yay! My food is that good!"
"You have flour on your forehead," he said flatly.
I turned to the mirror. I had flour on my forehead, cheek, apron, and somehow behind my ear. But I just grinned. "Battle scars of love!"
We sat down for dinner, and when the butler served us water, he did a double take at Alex's still-present smile like he'd seen a unicorn sipping tea.
"I like it when you smile," I said, spooning noodles into my mouth with zero elegance.
"Don't get used to it."
"Too late!" I beamed. "I'm printing it on mugs."