Kieran’s ‘Not Bad’ Approval

Amara blinked, caught off guard by his sudden proximity and the calm way he took over the task. She stepped slightly to the side, giving him space. "Okay," she said softly.

For a moment, silence fell again — not awkward, but quiet and oddly domestic. The sound of water and the occasional clink of utensils filled the air.

Kieran rinsed the vegetables with practiced efficiency, his sleeves now wet at the cuffs. Amara glanced at him out of the corner of her eye — the sharp line of his jaw, the calm in his posture, the way he focused like this was something serious. For some reason, it made her heart flutter a little.

"You've done this before?" she asked, half-teasing.

Kieran nodded without looking up. "Sometimes. Max forgets vegetables need to be washed."

Amara laughed, the sound light and unexpected. "That sounds... dangerous."

Kieran allowed himself a small smile, still not quite looking at her. "He hasn't died yet."

Amara grinned, returning to her cutting board. "Well, I promise not to poison anyone today."

Kieran finished rinsing the last of the vegetables, water droplets clinging to his sleeves as he turned off the tap. He glanced sideways.

"Anything else you need help with?" he asked, shaking water off his hands.

Amara smiled without looking at him. "Nope. I'm good."

Kieran didn't insist. Instead, he grabbed a kitchen towel, dried his hands, and hopped up onto the counter with casual ease, his phone in hand. But he wasn't scrolling. Not really. His eyes trailed her every move—how she moved barefoot across the tiled floor, how her fingers worked swiftly through the vegetables, how she leaned over the stove to adjust the flame, mumbling something under her breath when it flared too high.

She worked with quiet confidence. Every now and then, a strand of hair escaped her bun, and she'd blow it away with a puff of air. Kieran watched her, his expression unreadable—but his gaze never left.

Kieran didn't mean to stare, but there was something oddly calming—and captivating—about watching her cook. The way her brows furrowed in concentration, the little dance she did when she tasted the sauce and gave an approving nod, the way she flicked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with her wrist still covered in flour.

A few minutes passed in silence, save for the gentle bubbling on the stove. Kieran leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, watching as Amara added chopped tomatoes, stirred, and then reached for the salt.

"Careful," he said. "That's sugar."

Amara froze mid-sprinkle and looked down. Her eyes widened. "Oh my god."

He laughed softly, and before she could protest, he hopped off the counter and gently took the container from her. "Give me that. You were about to turn this into dessert."

She narrowed her eyes. "I meant to do that."

"Sure you did." He handed her the correct container, and their fingers brushed—just briefly, but the warmth lingered.

Amara's cheeks flushed faintly, but she didn't step back. She looked up at him and raised a brow. "So now you're my quality control?"

He leaned in slightly, just enough that she caught the faintest hint of his cologne. "Someone's got to make sure you don't accidentally invent a new genre of food."

They stayed like that for a second too long, neither of them quite moving, the pan on the stove momentarily forgotten. Then Amara cleared her throat and turned away, stirring again with unnecessary focus.

"You're good at this," Kieran said quietly behind her.

Amara tilted her head, surprised. "Cooking?"

"Yeah. I thought you were bluffing."

She chuckled. "I don't bluff when food is involved."

Kieran stepped beside her, close enough that their arms brushed as he leaned forward, peeking into the pan.

"Here" She scooped a little onto a spoon and offered it to him without hesitation.

Kieran didn't hesitate either. He leaned forward, his hand gently brushing hers as he tasted it.

He blinked, "Not bad."

Amara laughed, genuinely pleased.

For the next few minutes, they moved around the kitchen in a quiet rhythm—her chopping, him sneaking glances; her reaching for spices, him passing them before she could ask. Their hands brushed again. Their shoulders bumped. Nothing loud. Nothing overly romantic. Just two people sharing a space, unhurried and... close.

Amara carefully settled the plates on the dining table, the warm scent of garlic and herbs swirling in the air. The pasta gleamed invitingly under the soft light, steam curling gently upward like a promise of comfort. She took a small step back, wiping her hands on her apron, feeling a small burst of pride at the meal she'd prepared.

Just then, the familiar soft shuffle of footsteps approached from the hallway. Grandma appeared, her face lighting up the moment she saw the spread before her. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she took in the sight.

"Well, well, look at this! You're making this old lady hungry just standing there!" she teased, settling herself into her chair with a satisfied sigh. "It smells absolutely heavenly."

Amara smiled, feeling a glow of warmth spread through her chest. "I hope it tastes as good as it smells, Grandma."

Grandma gave her a knowing look, her lips curling into a playful smirk. "And where's that young man you?"

Amara glanced toward the hallway, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Kieran said he needed to take a call, but he should be back any minute."

Before Amara could finish explaining, the front door swung open, and Kieran stepped inside, his usual calm, almost effortless presence filling the room like a gentle breeze. His eyes immediately landed on the carefully arranged plates on the table, and a small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he strode over.

Grandma's eyes sparkled with mischief as she patted the empty seat beside her with a flourish. "Right on time, young man. Come on, sit down and taste what our chef here has whipped up. I'm expecting nothing less than a masterpiece."

Grandma was first to dive in, scooping a generous forkful of pasta and letting it linger on her tongue for a moment. Then she smiled — wide and approving, like someone who just discovered a hidden treasure.

"This," she declared with a theatrical flourish, "is very good. Better than I expected, honestly!" Her eyes twinkled as she looked at Amara, clearly impressed.

Amara felt a warm flush of pride and smiled softly. But then Kieran took his turn. He leaned forward, took a careful bite, and almost immediately cleared his throat with a faint, deliberate cough.

"Not bad," he said, his tone cool but with just the slightest hint of teasing in his voice.

Grandma's grin widened into a full-on smile, and she wagged a finger at Kieran. "Not bad? Amara, don't listen to this man all the time. He's got a strange way of showing praise — probably born that way."

Kieran shrugged, trying not to smile but clearly failing. "Hey, I'm just being honest. 'Very good' sounds like too much pressure. I prefer to keep things realistic."

"Oh, is that why you just cleared your throat instead of saying 'delicious'?" Amara teased, folding her arms with mock suspicion.

Grandma chuckled, leaning back in her chair, clearly pleased with the whole scene. "Well, young man, if you're going to keep coming by for meals, you better start appreciating her talents a bit more. I might have to teach you some manners!"

Kieran smirked. "I'll take lessons — only if they come with dessert."

The three of them burst into laughter, the room glowing with warmth, playful teasing, and the promise of many more shared meals to come.