Berton's POV
The next day as evening approached, we decided to cook dinner together. It was a fun and messy affair, with flour and sauce flying everywhere. We laughed and teased each other, and I marveled at how fast and strong our bond was growing with each moment.
"Pass me the pasta," I said and watched as she comically glanced at my hands that were covered in flour.
She handed it to me, giggling at the sight of me trying to mix the ingredients.
"You're a mess." She teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face.
"And whose fault is that?" I shot back with a playful glint in my eyes. She pouted playfully, before rolling her eyes and returned them to the mix I was making.
"Yours of course." She replied, sticking her tongue out at me. We finished cooking and sat down to eat.