"Now," he added, "where's your snack drawer? I'm your boyfriend. I get snack privileges."

  Summer snorted. "I don't have a snack drawer."

  Andy raised an eyebrow. "Wait — you don't have a designated snack drawer? That's practically a relationship red flag."

  "I try not to snack — I eat properly when I'm hungry," Summer said loftily, lifting her nose into the air.

  Smelling weakness, Andy pounced. "You said 'try'. Where do you keep the snacks?"

  "I don't hoard them in a drawer like a squirrel! They live in the kitchen, like civilized food. Veggies together, cheese together... " Summer flushed. "Er, chocolates together."

  Andy stood up, grinning. "You don't have a snack drawer. You have a snack ecosystem."

  Summer shrugged, a little sheepishly. "I like options."

  He padded into the kitchen and opened one cupboard — then the fridge — and let out a soft whistle. "This is enough to feed a small army. Or me, after one event. Decision paralysis!"

  "You poor thing," she deadpanned, following after him. "But it's almost lunch. We should eat real food."

  "Lunch?" Andy held up a bag of trail mix. "Fruit, protein, carbs."

  Summer groaned again, this time with laughter. "You're impossible."

  Andy grinned wider. "And yet you said yes to being my girlfriend."

  She looked over at him, eyes warm. "I really did." After a moment, she took the trail mix from him. "We should eat real food."

  Andy leaned against the counter and gave her a look. "That's rich coming from someone who's been coding in pyjamas for three hours straight."

  "Coding is real," she said, poking him with a fingertip. "And I was going to make lunch after I got this test to pass."

  "You know what passes every test?" Andy reached over her to open the fridge. "Eggs. Toast. Breakfasty things. Let me cook. I'm good at breakfast."

  Summer hesitated. "It's almost lunchtime."

  "All the more reason to make a brunch rebellion," Andy said with a smirk, pulling out ingredients. "Besides, I need the strength to keep up with you. You're very demanding."

  "I'm what? I just said we should eat real food."

  "Exactly," Andy said, pretending to watch her finger with theatrical suspicion. "Brunch it is."

  Summer laughed and handed him the spatula.

  While the eggs sizzled in the pan and the smell of toasting bread filled the kitchen, Summer disappeared down the hall. Andy didn't mind — he hummed a tuneless melody as he scrambled the eggs with practised ease.

  When Summer returned, she had traded her pyjamas for a faded graphic tee and soft, flowing pants. She was barefoot, hair pulled into a loose braid, and blinking like she was still half in code-world.

  Andy looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Ah, the elusive software nymph in her natural daywear."

  Summer rolled her eyes and leaned on the counter. "That's miss software nymph to you."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Andy offered her a mock-salute with the spatula. "Miss software nymph, brunch is nearly served."

  She peeked into the pan. "You made it with cheese?"

  "Of course. I pay attention."

  That earned him a small, warm smile. "That's dangerous."

  "Only if you're trying to get rid of me," Andy said, carefully dividing eggs onto plates. "Are you?"

  She hesitated, then took the offered plate. "No," she said softly. "I'm really not."

  Andy set his plate down on the little kitchen table, then pulled out a chair for Summer with a gallant flourish. She raised an eyebrow at the gesture but sat, still smiling faintly as she tucked her legs under the chair and picked up her fork.

  "So," Andy said, as he took his own seat after removing a small empty shipping box, "is now the right time to ask what exactly you're doing when you mutter mysterious things like 'break the loop' and 'patch the interface'?"

  Summer gave him a look that was half mock-exasperated, half amused. "You make it sound like I summon demons."

  "Don't you?" he asked innocently, tearing a piece of toast.

  "I mean... some of the bugs act possessed." She grinned. "I'm a developer. Software engineer, technically. I write code, fix things other people broke, and avoid meetings as much as humanly possible."

  Andy nodded thoughtfully. "That explains the snacks. And the deep sighs. And the sleep-deprived genius thing you've got going on."

  "I'm not sleep-deprived," she protested, then paused. "Wait. What genius thing?"

  He chuckled, then tilted his head. "So you work from home mostly?"

  "Yeah. Office two days a week. The rest I can do here. My company's pretty flexible — as long as I get the work done, they leave me alone."

  "Lucky," Andy murmured. "Do you like it?"

  Summer stirred her eggs with her fork. "Most days. I like building things. I like solving puzzles. I just wish people didn't also expect me to talk to other humans."

  Andy laughed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "Well, good news — I'm only half human."

  Summer tilted her head at him, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. "Only half, huh? What's the other half then? Goblin? Cryptid? Feral alley cat?"

  Andy grinned wickedly. "Close. It's a delicate blend of vampire prince and mischief demon. Heavy on the eyeliner, light on the impulse control. Needs occasional kisses to survive."

  She snorted. "That explains so much."

  "I thought it might." He leaned his chin on his hand, watching her with mock solemnity. "And you? Fully human? Or is the red hair a side effect of enchantment?"

  Summer gave a long-suffering sigh. "I wish I were something magical. Would make my job easier. But no, disappointingly mortal."

  Andy smirked. "Mortal, yes. But devastating. I've been thoroughly charmed."

  Summer rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed. "You're such a flirt."

  "True. But I only flirt with people who leave toothbrushes on pillows and feed me breakfast."

  She gave him a look that was fond and exasperated all at once. "Then I'm doomed."

  Andy beamed. "You're catching on."

  When they finished eating, Summer heaved a sigh, then got up, reaching for the plates.

  Andy caught her wrist, shaking his head. "I'll take care of it."

  She blinked at him. "But I — "

  "You have work, right?"

  "Yeah... "

  He watched her struggle between two opposing expectations, and said softly, "Then let me do this."

  Summer paused in the kitchen doorway, half-turning to glance at him. "You sure you don't need help?"

  Andy shooed her with a flick of the dishtowel. "Go. Code. Conquer. I've got this."

  She smiled and disappeared, the soft click of her keyboard resuming a moment later. Andy turned to the kitchen and began stacking plates, rinsing pans, wiping down the counter. He took his time with it. The kitchen wasn't messy, exactly—it just had that slightly lived-in look. A few crumbs here and there, an open bag of nuts on the counter, a tea towel hanging off the oven door. He liked it. It felt warm. Real.

  The domestic rhythm settled around him like a comfortable shirt — familiar, easy. Too easy. By the time he finished, he leaned on the counter, staring into the middle distance with a frown.

  He could live here. So easily. The thought ambushed him.

  And he shouldn't be thinking that.

  They met less than a week ago. They'd had one proper date. He'd already spent the night. Now he'd cooked in her kitchen. She had a toothbrush for him.

  And somehow, none of that felt too fast.

  It felt... inevitable.

  Andy ran a hand through his hair, shook his head, and muttered, "Calm the hell down, Knight. You're not moving in. You're just... visiting. Cooking breakfast. Being wildly domestic. No big deal."

  Except it was a big deal. The toothbrush, the way she looked at him like she wanted him to stay forever and couldn't believe she wanted that, the way he felt when she smiled across the table at him like he was hers. He thought, 'Yeah. I'm screwed.'

  He could live here. He knew that now. And that knowledge left him both giddy and unsettled. Because it didn't feel crazy. It felt... like home. Like the quiet corner of the world he didn't know he was missing.

  With a shake of his head, he leaned in the doorway to watch her type. Maybe he could figure out how not to fall in love at the speed of light.