(KRYSTAL'S POV)
By the time Raffaele and I finished freshening up, it was already afternoon.
At that point, breakfast felt pointless, so the three of us agreed to just skip it altogether. Angelo offered to cook instead, and now Raffaele and I are seated by the kitchen island, watching him move around the kitchen like he owns it.
Which… to be fair, he kind of does right now.
He's got a black apron tied around his waist, dark hair slightly messy, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms as he moves between the stove and the counter. There's something unfairly attractive about it. Maybe it's the confidence. Maybe it's the way he looks completely at ease while doing something as simple as cooking. Or maybe it's just the fact that a man who can cook is automatically hotter than he has any right to be.
Whatever it is, it's working.
A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch him stir the sauce in the pot.
