Page 47

Axel

I woke up to the sound of humming. Not angelic, peaceful humming—no, this was chaotic, syrup-splattered, I-might-have-murdered-a-waffle-maker kind of humming.

I blinked. The bed beside me was empty. That was my first red flag.

The second was the faint smell of smoke.

I yanked on a pair of sweats and stumbled out of the bedroom to find Lark standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding a fire extinguisher and glaring at the toaster like it had personally offended her.

“I was trying to make you breakfast in bed,” she said, sounding betrayed. “But your toaster is a liar. And maybe possessed.”

I looked at the counter. Half a pancake was stuck to the wall. A waffle was wedged in the sink. And the toaster… well, the toaster had seen better days.

“Lark,” I said slowly, “what happened?”

“I followed a recipe. Sort of. The waffles fought back. And the toaster… burst into flames. I saved your cabin and possibly your life.”

She crossed her arms and added, “You’re welcome.”

I tried not to laugh. Truly, I did. But the soot on her cheek and the defiant stance made it impossible.

“You’re incredible,” I said, pulling her close. “Also, you’re banned from making homemade waffles.”

“Fair. But next time, I’m trying eggs.”

I looked at the fire extinguisher still in her hand.

“I’ll buy a helmet.”