Ava's POV — Present Day
I swear this kitchen was made for a goddess.
Marble countertops, ivory cabinets, the soft smell of rosemary and garlic wafting in the air like I'm in a 5-star villa in Italy instead of my actual kitchen in California.
Okay. Fine. My actual giant kitchen in my actual glass-walled house that Ray designed because I said I wanted to feel like I lived in a Pinterest board.
(He rolled his eyes the whole time and then actually made it happen. Because Ray Chen is annoying like that. And kind. And irritatingly good at everything.)
I'm barefoot on the cool tiles, swaying to some French jazz playlist I found while throwing chopped herbs into a sizzling pan. My hair's in a claw clip that's already halfway falling apart. My silk robe is slipping off my shoulder. I know I look a mess.
But it's the good kind of mess.
The "mama's home and everything's okay now" kind of mess.
I toss the wooden spoon into the sink and lick the sauce off my finger. Perfect.
"Sebby!" I call. "You better be hungry, baby, because I made enough to feed a small nation!"
No answer.
I frown and peek out the wide glass window that overlooks the little backyard and the outdoor sitting area.
And that's when I see it.
Sebastian.
Sitting on the edge of the stone bench, long legs stretched out, tall like his dad never got the chance to be, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, listening.
To Ray.
Who's leaning against the grill table, arms crossed, expression calm but focused. His usual cold mask is cracked at the edges. I know that version of him—it's the soft-Ray only we get to see. The one who doesn't blink twice when I fall asleep on his couch. The one who drove ten hours to pick up Sebastian when I had a panic attack and couldn't drive.
I can't hear what they're saying.
But Seb's nodding.
Ray's jaw tightens, like he's trying not to say something too vulnerable.
And then—Seb laughs.
It's small. Barely there.
But it's real.
I press my palm gently to the cool windowpane, eyes soft.
They don't see me.
They're just… talking.
My boy. My best friend.
My whole world in two silhouettes under golden afternoon sun.
The sauce is probably burning.
I don't care.
I watch them a second longer, heart stupidly full, chest warm in that way that makes your eyes sting.
I'm home.
I'm loved.
And even if I don't always say it—I've never felt safer than when those two are in the same frame.
Now. If only someone would help me chop the garlic instead of having emotionally-charged bonding sessions in my garden.
"Boys!" I yell again. "Do I have to bribe you with dessert?!"
I hear Sebastian groan. Ray chuckles—actually chuckles—and the door slides open behind me.
Game on.