Kafka's smile was wide, full of pride and playful modesty as he leaned back, his hand still resting on her hip, his thigh warm beneath her.
"Yeah, Mom, guilty as charged." He said, his voice a soft, confident rumble. "But why are you so surprised? Cooking's not that hard, is it?"
"...Or do you think I'm so incompetent I can't even handle a kitchen?" His tone was teasing, but there was a confident glint in his eyes, daring her to underestimate him.
Olivia's eyes widened, her jaw dropping as she shook her head frantically, her voice rushing out in a fervent defense.
"No, no, it's not that, Kafi!" She said, her tone earnest, her hands gesturing wildly. "It's just...you've never cooked before, not like this!"
"I mean, back in the day, if I asked you to chop a vegetable, you'd roll your eyes and disappear to your room. You wouldn't even touch a knife. And now...now you're making this?"
