Later, Jay stood in the bathroom, arms crossed, eyeing the drawers beneath the sink.
"One drawer?" she said flatly. "You're not seriously giving me one drawer."
Keifer, toothbrush in hand, leaned in the doorway with a grin. "I didn't realize you were moving in with your entire wardrobe and your emotional baggage."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're hilarious."
"I try." He rinsed his mouth. "But I thought you'd appreciate the symmetry. One drawer for each emotional trauma."
"Oh, keep talking," she muttered, tugging open a drawer and finding it already filled with his razors, beard oil, and-"Do you need three different colognes?"
"They're for moods." He sauntered over, taking one out. "This one's for date night, this one's when I need to pretend I'm responsible, and this-" he held up the last bottle, "-is for when you hog the blanket and I need to win you back with scent."
Jay laughed despite herself. "You're a disaster."
"And yet, you married me."
She stepped aside to make room and glanced at the counter. "Okay, but I need space for my skincare stuff. And no, I'm not putting it in the closet."
Keifer looked at her for a beat, then moved past her, opened two drawers, and began clearing them out without another word.
Jay blinked. "Wait, what are you doing?"
He gave her a half-smile, stacking his things neatly in a basket. "Giving you whatever space you need. Drawers, closets, my side of the bed-take it. It's yours now."
She was quiet, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.
"I was joking about the baggage," he added. "But even if you came with some, I've got room."
Jay pressed her lips together, touched in ways she didn't quite know how to say.
"So," he said, turning with an exaggerated flourish, "which drawer gets the serums, and which one gets the forty-seven-step nighttime routine?"
She smacked his arm. "It's six steps."
He grinned. "Still beats me. I wash my face and pray."
Jay shook her head, a smile breaking free. "You're lucky I fake married you."
Keifer leaned down, bumped her shoulder gently. "Luck's got nothing to do with it. You're stuck with me."
They stood there for a moment-between toothbrushes and sarcasm, soft truths and scented chaos-slowly settling into a life together, one drawer at a time.
Later that evening, Jay Jay stood in the kitchen, arms folded like she was about to go to war.
This time, it was dinner. This time, she would win.
She'd Googled a recipe. She'd laid out ingredients. She had music playing in the background like she wasn't already planning to prove Keifer wrong about her so-called kitchen curses.
Jay Jay was going to prove a point.
She didn't need Keifer's help. She wasn't some helpless housewife. She was an independent, capable woman who could cook her own damn dinner.
At least-that's what she told herself as she stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and jaw set like she was about to face a battlefield. Which-considering the flour-covered counter, tomato-streaked spoon, and half-boiled pasta clinging to the pot-wasn't entirely wrong.
But Jay was determined.
She was humming under her breath, halfway into a rhythm, when the sauce began to bubble aggressively. "Oh no no no-" she reached for the pan just as it hissed like a dragon and popped red droplets across the counter and her face.
One landed squarely on her nose.
And then, like fate's final joke, the smoke alarm blared.
"ВЕЕР! ВЕЕР! ВЕЕР!"
Jay yelped and nearly flung the wooden spoon across the room. In her panic, she bumped the flour bag. It tipped. Slow motion. A small puff. Then a cloud.
When Keifer walked in, it looked like a war zone.
Flour floated in the air like snow in a rom-com gone horribly wrong. The smoke alarm wailed. The sauce hissed. And Jay stood in the middle of it all-red-nosed, wide-eyed, clutching a wooden spoon like a weapon of last resort.
He blinked once.
Then doubled over laughing.
Jay's scowl could've melted glaciers. "Shut. Up."
Keifer couldn't. He was wheezing. "Oh my god-you-what happened in here?!"
"I was cooking," she snapped.
"Cooking?" he gasped between laughs. "Jay, you look like a powdered donut that lost a knife fight."
"Keifer!"
He dodged the flying spoon. "Okay, okay-hold on. Let me get the alarm."
Still chuckling, he waved a towel under the smoke alarm until it finally quieted, then turned back to her, wiping flour off the edge of the counter like it offended him.
Jay crossed her arms. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"I mean..." He stepped closer, eyes twinkling as he studied her face. "You have actual sauce on your nose. Like a cartoon character."
She went to swipe it off, but he caught her wrist gently.
"Hold still." He leaned in, thumb brushing the tip of her nose.
Jay froze. Her heart did something weird and traitorous.
"There." He smiled, smug as ever. "Nose de-sauced."
She narrowed her eyes. "You love this, don't you?"
"I live for this. Chaos Jay is my favorite genre."
She muttered something about legal loopholes and annulments under her breath.
Keifer peered into the pan. "Is this... edible?"
"I was trying to make pasta," she said defensively.
"You made art. Abstract, terrifying art."
"I'm learning, okay?"
"You're brave. I'll give you that. You faced flour, fire, and gravity-all before dinner."
Jay bit back a laugh. "You're so annoying."
"And yet you married me."
"Fake married you."
He grinned. "Still stuck with me, disaster chef."
She sighed and turned away, brushing flour off her shirt. "I wanted this to go well. For once. Something... normal."
Keifer's teasing softened. He stepped behind her, resting a hand on her back. "Hey. You tried. You cared. That means more than a flawless meal."
She glanced up at him, suspicious. "Are you being sincere?"
"Temporarily. It'll pass."
Jay gave a small laugh despite herself.
Keifer leaned closer. "But just so we're clear-you owe me a new bag of flour and probably a therapy session for the smoke alarm."
"I'll invoice you for emotional damage."
"You'll have to pay in cookies. That's the law."
Jay rolled her eyes but smiled as he reached over to stir the sauce himself, showing her how to move the spoon in slow, steady motions.
"Here," he said, guiding her hand. "You were trying to stir like you were fencing. It's sauce, not a duel."
"It was bubbling like a monster."
"And you challenged it to a death match. Impressive."
She bumped his shoulder. "You're insufferable."
"You like it."
Jay didn't respond. But she didn't pull her hand away either. And when Keifer reached for the flour bag again, just to make a joke about powdered noses, she caught his wrist.
"Don't you dare."
He wiggled his eyebrows. "You're no fun."
"I am exactly as much fun as the person who didn't trigger the fire alarm."
"Touché, disaster wife."
She blinked. "Did you just-?"
"Yup. That's your new title. Has a nice ring to it."
"I hate you."
He gave her the most infuriatingly fond smile. "Flour face and all? Nah. You love me."
Jay turned back to the stove, cheeks pink and lips twitching. "Keep dreaming, chef boy."
Keifer laughed again, elbowing her gently as they started plating the pasta-still slightly overcooked, sauce a bit too thick, flour hanging in the air like proof of chaos-but it was theirs.
Disaster or not, it felt weirdly right.
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Thank you for your patience.... now I am fine not completely but still I am really better from the past few days. .
As you were so patience and kind I decided to post two chapter today..... Other chapter coming soon✨
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