Chapter 4 - THE BREAKFAST REVOLUTION
At 8:00 p.m., the penthouse kitchen looked like a disaster zone for the second time that day.
There was maple syrup splattered across the granite island, bits of burnt batter sticking to the non-stick skillet, and flour dusted in places flour had no business being.
Andrew James—billionaire CEO, ruthless negotiator, and terror of the financial district—stood in front of the stove wearing an apron that read Kiss the Cook, desperately trying to flip a pancake without destroying it completely.
Alex sat on a high stool, clapping his hands together and laughing out loud.
“Too fast!” Alex yelled, pointing at the spatula. “Daddy, you broke it!”
“It’s not broken, it’s… artistically challenged,” Andrew muttered, expertly hiding his panic as the pancake folded in half.
Elizabeth leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a mug of coffee in her hand, shaking her head with an amused grin.
“You’re a disaster in the kitchen, Mr. James,” she teased.
“I’ll have you know I closed a billion-dollar merger in Frankfurt last month,” Andrew retorted, successfully landing a slightly charred pancake onto a ceramic plate. “This requires a completely different skill set.”
“Clearly.”
She set her mug down, walked over to the stove, and gently took the spatula from his hand. Her fingers brushed against his for a fraction of a second. A strange, unexpected jolt of electricity shot up Andrew’s arm, making him pull back slightly as if he had touched a live wire.
He looked down at her.
Elizabeth didn't step away. Her brown eyes met his, filled with an unspoken understanding that bridged the chasm of their broken pasts.
“Let me show you how it’s done,” she whispered.
May you like
For the next ten minutes, they worked side by side—flipping pancakes, pouring orange juice, and cleaning up the mess while Alex babbled happily about dinosaurs and flour angels.
For the first time in fourteen months, the penthouse felt less like a museum of ghosts and more like a home.
