Now, the apartment glowed with warm light. The small table was set with mismatched plates, hand-folded napkins courtesy of Emma's Pinterest addiction, and a flickering candle that definitely made the whole thing feel fancier than any of them deserved.
Claire stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching Lucas stir the sauce like it held the fate of humanity.
"You always cook like it's the last meal on Earth?"
Lucas looked up, mock-serious. "It could be. You never know. Aliens. Meteorites. Max trying to help in the kitchen again."
"Hey!" Max called from the hallway. "I heard that!"
Claire stepped closer, peering into the pot. "Smells incredible."
Lucas shrugged, but his lips quirked. "Not bad for a guy who used to survive on ramen and cereal."
"Now look at you. Gourmet and mysterious," she said, lightly nudging him with her elbow.
He leaned a little closer. "And taken."
Claire felt her cheeks flush. The simplicity of the word—taken—carried more weight than she expected. But she liked it, although they've not started dating.
Dinner was chaos in the best way.
Emma told stories with wild hand gestures. Max added color commentary and knocked over a wine glass. Lucas served the pasta with a bow like a waiter at a five-star restaurant, and Claire couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so freely.
At one point, while Emma and Max argued about whether pineapple belonged on pizza, Claire caught Lucas looking at her—really looking, her heart fluttered.
That soft, thoughtful gaze he had when he was caught off guard. The one she'd seen for just a second after their first kiss.
She gave him a small, secret smile. He smiled back, like it was just theirs.
After dinner, the four of them sank into the couch, full and happy. The dishes could wait.
Max eventually dozed off. Emma wasn't far behind, wrapped in a blanket and still mid-rant about "unholy fruit on dough."
Claire sat beside Lucas, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. The room had gone quiet except for the hum of the city outside the window.
"You know," she murmured, "I don't think I'm built for this kind of thing."
Lucas turned his head toward her, curious. "What kind of thing?"
"This. The… us thing. Sharing space. Letting someone see the real version, not just the edited one."
Lucas was quiet for a moment. Then, "Do you feel like you have to edit around me?"
Claire thought about it. Then shook her head. "No. That's the weird part. You make it feel easy."
Lucas gently reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "You make me feel like I don't have to try so hard to be interesting. Like just being here is enough."
She squeezed his hand. "It is."
They sat there for a while, content in the silence that only comes when everything feels… right.
It was messy. It was unplanned. It involved cracker dough and too many inside jokes and burnt toast from Max.
But somehow, it worked.
And somewhere between pancakes and pasta, sarcasm and softness, Claire and Lucas had found something solid.
Something worth letting in.
Something real.
The weeks that followed were a mix of subtle tension and quiet companionship.
Claire and Lucas saw each other often—usually by accident, sometimes by design. Max and Emma were inseparable, which meant Claire and Lucas often ended up in the same room, sharing a couch, a table, or a kitchen space. But they never crossed the invisible line Claire had drawn—not physically, not emotionally. At least, not out loud.
One rainy afternoon, Emma convinced everyone to come over for a "bake-and-binge" day. She brought the ingredients for banana bread and insisted it was a "group effort," though Max somehow disappeared halfway through to "check something" on his phone.
Claire and Lucas worked side by side, mashing bananas and measuring sugar. He handed her a wooden spoon, brushing her fingers in the exchange. Her breath caught—but he didn't linger.
"You're being very careful," she said suddenly, not looking at him.
Lucas glanced at her. "With what?"
"With me."
He paused, then shrugged. "You said you needed time. I'm just… trying to respect that."
Claire looked up. "Thank you. I notice. Even when I act like I don't."
Lucas smiled softly. "Good. I'd rather go slow than disappear."
That night, they all piled onto the couch to watch a terrible baking competition show. Lucas sat beside her but didn't reach for her hand.