I stepped into the vast, silent kitchen, the cool marble counters feeling sterile after the warmth of the bedroom. The air of corporate efficiency here was palpable, a stark contrast to the cozy scene I’d just left behind.
But I wasn't intimidated; I was on a mission. The enemy was indifference, and the weapon was perfect hot chocolate.
I moved with the confidence Julian had instilled in me, bypassing the massive, industrial espresso machine and heading straight for the basic tools. I grabbed the small saucepan, the fine cocoa powder, and the sugar.
"No more crime scenes," I muttered to myself, remembering Julian’s dry humor.
I started the process meticulously. Low heat for the milk, just enough to warm it slowly. In a separate bowl, I mixed the cocoa powder and sugar, adding that cru
