I chuckle, grabbing the bouquet from between us before hopping out. By the time she joins me, she’s already taking in her surroundings—the house, the wraparound porch, the warm glow of light spilling from the windows.

Her expression shifts, just slightly. “Your place, huh?”

“Still convinced I’m a serial killer?” I tease, unlocking the door.

She hums, stepping inside ahead of me. “Not ruling it out yet.”

The second I shut the door behind us, my phone connects to the Bluetooth speakers in the kitchen, and the music from the truck picks up right where it left off—a smooth transition, like the house is just as ready for tonight as I am.

Selene glances toward the speakers, amused. “Didn’t take you for the ‘walk into the room with a soundtrack’ type.”

I set the bouquet down on the counter, flashing her a grin. “It makes life more interesting.”

She smirks, but I catch the way her eyes linger on the space around her. It’s not a huge house, but it’s comfortable—lived-in. Warm wood tones, open shelves lined with coffee mugs and cookbooks, a well-worn couch in the living room, and a few framed photos that have been in the same spots for years.

She looks at it like she’s searching for a tell—a crack in the perfect, steady image.

“Alright, Hot Shot,” she says, turning back to me. “What’s the plan?”

I nod toward the kitchen. “We cook.”

Selene blinks. “Wait, what?”

I laugh, moving toward the fridge. “You thought I was taking you out, didn’t you?”

She crosses her arms, eyeing me. “I mean… yeah? I thought you were just dropping off your groceries because you have poor time management skills.”

“Well,” I say, pulling out ingredients, “I have excellent time management skills, but I figured this would be better. More fun. Less pressure. Plus, I needed to see if you could hold your own in a kitchen.”

She scoffs. “I can cook just fine, thank you very much.”

I slide a cutting board toward her, along with a chef’s knife. “Good. Prove it.”

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath, but she steps up to the counter. I don’t miss the way she rolls up her sleeves like she’s ready to go to battle.

We fall into an easy rhythm—chopping, stirring, moving around each other like we’ve done this a hundred times before. The music keeps the energy light, and soon enough, we’re laughing between steps, trading playful nudges when one of us gets in the other’s way.

A familiar guitar riff hums through the speakers, and before the first verse even starts, I know exactly what song it is.

Assimilate by Umbra.

I glance at Selene, curious. Most people either recognize their big hits or don’t know them at all, but the way she perks up tells me she’s in the first category.