Back to the present.
"Hey! Stop daydreaming!"
Ice's sharp voice yanked me back to reality.
"It's going to burn," he added, this time with that signature irritated tone of his.
I nearly fell off the chair. "No!" I cried, scrambling to the oven. My heart raced as I flung the door open. A few more seconds and it would've been ruined.
Please don't burn... please don't burn... if it burns, I might as well evaporate right here.
I yanked the oven door open and another cry rang out—mine.
In my panic, I'd grabbed the tray bare-handed. The heat seared through my skin, and instinct kicked in I dropped it. Luckily, it didn't crash to the floor. But still
How could I forget the oven mitts?! Stupid, stupid!
I braced for Ice's explosion, cringing already. But instead…
"How could you be so careless?" he snapped, rushing to my side.Except his voice wasn't angry. It was... worried?
Before I could process it, Ice rushed to my side. His hands caught mine, turning them over gently, his touch firm but careful as he checked for burns.
His fingers traced my skin like he was handling something fragile. My heart flipped.
Wait. What's happening?
He wasn't scolding me.
He was checking me.
Gently.
Cautiously.
Okay. Deep breath. Do not blush. You're not allowed to blush at this.
I turned away, flustered. This wasn't fair. He'd spent the whole day scolding me, and now he was being...
I tried to pull my hand back, but he held on. His brow furrowed with concern, and for once, his usual cold stare was replaced with something softer.
"I'm fine," I whispered, barely able to speak. But Ice didn't budge. His eyes said it all—Do you really think this is okay?
Like an older brother—stern, overprotective, and impossible to argue with.
Please don't blush. Please. Why am I so embarrassed?!
"I—I'm f-fine," I repeated, floundering. I tried to look anywhere but at him. What is going on with me?!
At last, he let go, only to turn away and dig into his bag for something. I didn't see what it was. I was too busy trying to calm the emotional storm spinning inside me.
I stood frozen.
Okay. What just happened? Why does this feel like a scene straight out of the romantic drama I just read? This is NOT supposed to happen in real life. Not with Ice.
I'm not in love with him, I told myself firmly. It's just the situation. It's the kind of thing that happens in those sweet, dreamy romance novels. Totally normal reaction. Totally.
But then, why did this feel exactly like one of those scenes I'd swooned over before bed last night?
My cheeks were burning hotter than the oven. I patted them furiously. Snap out of it!
This is not a swoon-worthy moment. This is reality. And it's Ice. Grumpy, scary Ice.
I blinked, surprised to feel the sting of cool ointment on my fingers.
I wanted to say something—anything—but my voice wouldn't come.
Ice worked in silence, his touch gentle, focused. He applied the burn cream like it was the most important thing in the world.
His hands... were so careful. So unlike the frustrated version of him I'd dealt with all day. It felt surreal.
Why is this even happening? And why is he so calm now? Earlier he looked like he wanted to murder me with a whisk!
"Ah!" I flinched.
Ice steadied my hand with a firmer grip. "Bear with it. It's your fault," he said deadpan.
"You're so mean!" I pouted, but my mind was spinning with the words I couldn't say out loud.
Technically, it is my fault. But also technically... I was panicking because of you! So really, it's your fault too.
Of course, I didn't say that out loud. I just sulked as he finished tending my poor fingers.
"Try being more careful," he muttered, letting go. "And act more mature."
Is that supposed to be advice or another insult? I thought, but didn't say. Honestly, I was just relieved he wasn't yelling. Also… kind of relieved he cared.
I tried to hide the blush still clinging to my cheeks as Ice turned back to the mess I'd made.
"Just sit there," he said, voice cold again. "I'll finish up. We'll do the plating tomorrow."
The air between us chilled instantly, his irritation back on full display. He moved with quick, practiced motions as he cleaned up the kitchen.
I stayed quiet, thought gnawing at me. If I hadn't burned, I'd probably be in the trash with the overmixed batter.
By the time we left, it was already past 8 p.m. Ice drove me home, the car thick with silence. I was too scared to speak, afraid I'd say something that would make him snap again.
This is so boring, I thought, sneaking glances at him.
His expression stayed unreadable, eyes locked on the road.
This is awkward.
I kept stealing side glances at him. Was he still mad? I couldn't tell. His expression was unreadable, as usual. Ice-faced Ice.
The stillness of the night, the rhythm of the engine, and the exhaustion from school, work, and baking disasters began to lull me into sleep.
My eyelids drooped.
Eventually, I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window. It felt soothing, grounding.
I'm so tired... So tired... maybe just a tiny nap...
When I opened my eyes again, soft light poured through the window.
Wait. Sunlight?
I blinked, groggy and confused.
The car had stopped, Am I still on the car?
And Ice was looking at me, standing on the door entrance
"Good morning," he said, voice quiet. "Breakfast is ready."