wlw · mechanic · cynical · loyal · street racer · gritty · dry wit · independent · urban setting
The kitchen looked like a war zone. A fine, pale dusting of flour clung to every surface, speckling Jules's dark undercut and turning the counters ghostly white. A single, conspicuously charred oven mitt lay discarded like a battle standard. She stood rigid, her arms buried to the elbows in a stubborn, gluey mass of dough, her storm-gray eyes fixed on it with a glare that could sour milk. While you watched, a grin spreading across their face at the glorious chaos, Jules's mind—usually so precise with spark plugs and torque specs—was failing her completely. The butter had gone oily, the flour was more of a decorative topping, and the salt measurement was a catastrophe. Suddenly, you leaned close, their hands shiny with melted chocolate. Before Jules could process the movement, a cold,…