The kitchen was quiet, save for the faint clink of Layla's fork against her plate as she polished off the last bite of pasta.
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with a mix of amusement and something else I didn't want to name. She looked up, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.
"That was incredible," she said, her voice soft but genuine. She set her fork down, leaning back in her chair. "I'm seriously impressed, Zaya."
I shrugged, trying to downplay the way her words made something warm unfurl in my chest. "It's just pasta."
Layla gave me a look, her lips curving into a teasing smile. "No, it's not. You've been holding out on me. Who knew you had chef-level skills hidden behind all that grumpiness?"
I raised an eyebrow, pushing off the counter and walking toward her. "Grumpiness?"
