Raising an eyebrow, it takes me a second to process that he is, in fact, holding an actual baguette.

I snort, my nerves easing just a bit. “Wow, straight for the bread innuendos. Bold.”

His grin only grows, “Bold is my middle name.”

I let my gaze drift down to the baguette, then back to him, deliberately slow. “And here I was, hoping you’d bring something a little more impressive.”

Theo freezes.

For exactly half a second, his cocky expression flickers, and I swear I see his brain buffer.

Then—he throws his head back with a laugh, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Damn,” he says, shaking his head as he steps inside. “I was not prepared for that.”

Smiling, I shut the door behind him. “You should learn to expect the unexpected.”

He turns slightly, catching my gaze as he leans against the counter, setting the groceries down. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m very, very good at adapting.”

I swallow, ignoring the way my stomach does a completely unnecessary flip.

Stepping around him I gesture toward the back of the house. “Right through there. Make yourself at home.”

He brushes past me, and I catch the faint scent of cedar and fresh air after a storm. My cheeks heat as I shut the door and follow him. Stupid, distracting Theo.

In the kitchen, Theo sets his things down and starts unpacking. “Alright,” he says, holding up a whisk, “time to show you more of my moves.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the counter. “Are we talking about actual baking moves, or are you just hoping I’ll be impressed by the way you hold that whisk?”

He twirls it between his fingers like a baton. “A little bit of both.”

Pretending to consider his words I lean against the counter trying not to look as excited as I feel about having him in my space. “Mm. Show me a proper wrist flick, and maybe I’ll be impressed.”

His eyebrows lift, and he flicks his wrist, sending the whisk flying out of his hand. It clatters to the floor, spinning in a sad little circle.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then I grin. Wide.

Theo’s cheeks redden as he runs a hand through his hair, looking comically sheepish. “You’re gonna hold that against me forever, aren’t you?”

I bend down to pick up the whisk, wiping it off with a paper towel before placing it back in his hand. “Oh, absolutely.”

Before he can respond, Celeste clears her throat.

“Oh wow, look at the time,” she says in a voice that is way too dramatic to be real.

I turn, suspicious. “Celeste—”

She gasps, spinning toward Orion—who has been standing in the doorway for god knows how long. He glares at us as he silently watches the disaster unfold. “Orion, we should go.”

He blinks. “Go where?”