MACKENZIE
I slept well, thanks to the electric heater he brought in. After the usual morning routine—bathroom, curtains—I straightened the
sheets before heading to the kitchen. On my way there, I heard the sound of plates clattering. Was he home?
The kitchen hummed with the soft sizzle of something cooking, the air thick with a delicious smell. Alistair stood near the stove, his broad back to me, flipping something in a pan with practiced ease. I leaned against the counter, my eyes tracing the curve of his shoulders.
"You are cooking for me?" I asked, a smirk tugging at my lips, knowing full well that Alistair never did anything without a reason.
He didn't answer right away, just glanced back at me before turning his attention back to the pan. "Seems like you had a good sleep last n
