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“You have to mix the dry ingredients first.” 

“Why wouldn’t you just add them to the —” 

“Because it’ll be uneven —” 

“But you’re going to mix it anyway!” 

They bickered the way only best friends could. Raised voices, arms waving about, glares and scowls perfected from years of practice. It had been that way since they discovered their favourite show was one that nobody else in their circle had seen, and there was no natural inclination to beat around the bush with false niceties. 

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, watching as he dumped flour into his bowl. 

“I’m mixing the dry ingredients.” 

She sighed and pinched her nose. “Did you even sift the flour?” 

He blinked. “I’m supposed to sift the flour?” 

Grabbing the rubber spatula, he ducked just as she aimed for his head, but he failed to spot the incoming strike at his side. 

“You have to sift everything!” she cried out, brandishing the spatula again. 

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” He squinted at the yellow packaging. “It literally says this has been sifted already.” 

She jabbed her finger at the piece of paper taped to the side of the fridge. SIFT EVERYTHING TWICE. 

His mouth formed an O, and he had the good grace to grimace even as one of those awkward shrugs landed on his shoulders. “Should I sift it all now?” 

Huffing, she went back to whisking the egg whites. When she saw him waiting for direction, she nodded. “Yes, sift it now.” 

“Where’s your sieve?”

She jutted her chin at the cabinet to her left, shifting to give him space in the tiny kitchen. His chest pressed against her back as he reached over, and her hands paused. For those two seconds, she could’ve sworn she didn’t breathe. 

Sieve in hand, he returned to his position on the other side of the counter. She forced her shoulders to relax, forced her lungs to work, forced any and all stray thoughts back into the box she created in her mind when she became cognizant of the fact that he could make her blush simply by smiling. 

“You’re staring.” 

She startled. “Huh?” 

He raised his eyebrows, but there was something in his gaze. Warmth. “You’re staring at me.” 

Testing the viscosity of the egg whites, she only said, “Must’ve zoned out.” 

“Could you pass the salt?” 

Two things happened simultaneously then: she leaned over the sink toward the spice rack just as he accidentally elbowed the open milk carton, a splash sounding.

She realized it was spilled milk she stepped in a second too late. Her world tilted backward — 

His hands wrapped around her waist, and both of them cursed as he braced her against the counter.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to —” 

“It’s fine,” she brushed off. “At least I didn’t slip.” 

Their eyes locked. She swallowed, heat crawling up her cheeks as his gaze lowered.

And when their lips met, they knew their lives would never be the same again.