Meghan’s P.O.V.
The smell of melting butter and the crackle of the griddle filled the small kitchen as I flipped the first pancake onto a plate. Blade was keeping himself busy walking down the hall, muffled but unmistakable. I smirked, shaking my head as I remembered the shared shower we had just had—if you could call it a shower. The man was like a mischievous kid with a firehose.
a firehose he could use like no other!
“Pancakes it is,” I muttered to myself, pouring another circle of batter onto the hot pan. The batter sizzled, tiny bubbles popping along the edges. Cooking always calmed me, and after the chaos of this morning and even last night, I could use some peace of mind. Or at least, I thought I could.
The sound of footsteps padding into the kitchen made me glance up. Blade sto
