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I put the water on the stove and leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest while I waited for it to heat up.

“Can you put this in?” Taavi handed me a bottle of vanilla extract.

“You want vanilla choux?”

“Mmhmm.” He went back to unpacking groceries, although he’d left the chicken, the roast, and a bunch of spices out on the counter.

I had no idea what was going on or why the fuck I was baking, but Ilikebaking, and Elliot’s expression was the most lively I’d seen it in the last week, so whatever Taavi was up to, I was all in.

Then Taavi turned to Elliot. “Do you have a coffee grinder?”

Elliot nodded, then went to pull the requested item out of a cupboard. Taavi smiled at him as he took it. “Thanks.”

And then the choux needed my focus, so I mostly stopped paying attention to what was happening behind me. Fortunately, choux is finicky as fuck, so I couldn’t even distract myself by freaking out about what the fuck I was going to do about my shitshow of a relationship with Taavi.

Which meant that I missed when Taavi left the kitchen, so I nearly jumped out of my skin when Elliot hissed “Val, what the fuck iswrongwith you?” next to my ear.

“What?” I yelped back.

Elliot rolled his eyes. “You’re freaking out.” He kept his voice down, probably because he isn’t stupid and knew just how sharp Taavi’s hearing was.

“I’m—”

“Freaking the fuck out.”

I sighed, stirring the choux a few more times before turning off the heat under the pan and moving it off the stove. There was no point in lying to Elliot. “Yes.”

“Why?”

I shrugged, my eyes staring at the pastry because I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do with either it or myself. Or my relationship, for that matter.

“Well,stop.”

“I’m not good for him,” I muttered.

“The fuck you aren’t.” Elliot sounded annoyed. Great. I’d gotten him over his grief by pissing him off. Look at me being a great friend, right on top of being a fantastic selfish, clingy boyfriend.

“He’s miserable, El.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly fucking Disney World, now is it?”

He had a point. Elliot usually does.

“I did this to him,” I half-whined.

“Did you ask him to come?”

“I wanted him to.”

“Did youask, Val?”

“No.”

“Seriously, you self-centered, self-sabotaging asshole,stop. Yeah, he’s not having a fucking party out here. It’s cold as balls, he’s basically living with your parents, and you’re here all the time. Of course he’s unhappy. But if he isn’t complaining, then you shut the fuck up and do your best and accept that he’s trying to makeyoufucking happy for once, you grumpy bastard.”

I gaped at him. “But—”

“Don’t you fuckingbutme, Valentine Sebastian Hart.” Jesus. Breaking out my goddamn middle name, which is just as fucking horrible as the rest of it. At least it was my grandfather’s, but Elliot had to be seriously fucking pissed at me in order to use it.