|Javier|
“Katherine?”
The name slipped from my lips almost before I realized it, carried across the penthouse with a faint echo that bounced off the high ceilings. My voice felt foreign in the quiet of the morning, but it drew attention nonetheless.
I froze mid-step, brows knitting together in confusion. The stove was on. Two pots sat on the range, steam rising in gentle, curling tendrils. The rich, savory aroma of garlic mingled with something else I couldn’t immediately place, teasing my senses and slowing my pace.
Katherine… cooking?
It didn’t make sense. She had confessed once, in that awkward, half-embarrassed way of hers, that she had no clue how to cook. I remembered teasing her mercilessly, laughing at her awkward protests, the way she insisted she could learn someday. And yet
