I gesture to the corner of the counter, and we fall into an easy rhythm. While he sets up, I dig out two wine glasses, pouring us each a generous amount. The music in the background shifts to a jazzy melody, smooth and rich, like the wine that’ll soon be warming my veins.

“To late-night baking adventures,” Theo says, raising his glass, his eyes glinting.

I clink mine against his, taking a slow sip. “To cookies. May they be worth all this effort.”

“They will be,” he promises, smirking. “You’ll be singing my praises by the time you take a bite.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on me before he turns back to his ingredients.

As the baking progresses, Valkyrie makes her rounds, nosing at Theo’s legs like she’s part of the quality control team. She sneaks off at one point, her jaws clamped around a stolen whisk. Theo just laughs, shaking his head as he grabs another from my drawer.

The air in the kitchen thickens—not just from the heat of the oven but from the way we keep brushing against each other, close in a way that feels effortless. We sip wine, sneak bites of cookie dough, and sway slightly to the music without meaning to.

When the cookies go in, the scent of warm sugar and chocolate fills the air, blending with the faint buzz in my head. Valkyrie gnaws happily on her stolen whisk in the corner, occasionally peeking at us like she’s making sure we’re doing everything correctly.

Then the playlist shifts. A soft, slow, and entirely too romantic drifts through the speakers. The song has a sultry tempo that begs for slow, swaying movements.

I glance at Theo. He’s leaning against the counter, wine glass in hand, watching me with a small, knowing smile.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it,” he replies, his voice dipping lower. “You’re kind of distracting.”

My stomach flips.

I try to play it off, focusing on the music instead of the warmth creeping up my neck. But Theo—of course—sees right through me. He sets his glass down and steps closer, holding out a hand.

“Dance with me.”

I blink at him. “Right now? Seriously?”

He grins, completely unfazed. “Why not? We’ve already turned this into a cookie-baking, wine-drinking date. Might as well add dancing to the list.”

Date.

The word lingers in the air between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

I should tell him no. Or at least pretend to hesitate. Instead, I slide my hand into his, and he pulls me in, warm and steady, his fingers resting lightly against my waist.

The music swells, and we start to sway, slow and easy, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.