The morning sunlight streamed through the octagonal window, landing in soft, golden patches on my wooden floor. I stirred awake, feeling the remnants of sleep still clinging to me, but the muffled sounds of laughter from downstairs pulled me from the warm cocoon of my bed. For a moment, I lay there, savoring the stillness of my room before the inevitable chaos resumed. Dragging myself out of bed, I threw on a hoodie and padded down the stairs. The smell of something cooking—likely Rory's attempt at breakfast—hit me first. When I reached the kitchen, I wasn't surprised to see him standing over the stove with a spatula in one hand and a pancake that looked suspiciously uneven in the other. "Good morning, culinary genius," I teased, leaning against the doorframe. "Good morning, critic extraordinaire," Rory shot back with a grin, flipping the pancake with exaggerated flair. "You're just jealous of my skills." "Sure," I replied, smirking as I grabbed a mug and poured myself some coffee. "How many pancakes have you burned so far?" "Only two," Caleb said, appearing from behind the fridge with a carton of orange juice. "Which is a personal record for him." "Hey," Rory protested, pointing his spatula at Caleb. "No one asked for your commentary." I laughed softly and took a sip of my coffee, letting their banter wash over me. It was such a normal scene—exactly the kind of morning I loved. Then, as if on cue, Béatrice entered the room, wearing one of my oversized sweaters and looking far too put-together for someone who had just woken up. "Morning," she said brightly, her tone suspiciously cheerful. "What are we eating?" "Rory's questionable pancakes," Caleb said, earning himself another glare from Rory. Béatrice raised an eyebrow at the lumpy stack on the plate. "Well, I suppose it's edible." Rory groaned. "You people have no faith in me."
"Don't worry," Xander chimed in, walking into the kitchen with an easy smile. "I think they look great, Rory." "Thank you!" Rory exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Finally, some respect around here." Béatrice snorted but grabbed a plate and served herself a pancake. As we all sat around the table—mismatched chairs and all—the familiar hum of conversation filled the room. Caleb and Rory bickered over syrup ratios, Béatrice critiqued the lack of French pastries, and Xander, ever the peacekeeper, chimed in with jokes to keep the mood light. For once, I found myself simply observing. Béatrice, despite her usual flair for drama, seemed more relaxed this morning. She joined in on the banter without dominating it, her laugh blending easily with the others. I wasn't sure if it was because of the low stakes or the company, but it was nice to see this side of her—a side that didn't always feel like a performance. " Maya," Béatrice said suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts. "What's the plan for today?" I blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, I hadn't really thought about it. Why?" She shrugged, taking a bite of her pancake. "Just curious. You're the host, after all." "I vote for a lazy day," Caleb said through a mouthful of food. "Movies, snacks, the works." "Seconded," Rory added. "No offense, Maya, but your couch is way more comfortable than mine." I chuckled. "You're all freeloaders, you know that?" "Guilty as charged," Xander said with a grin. "But seriously, a lazy day sounds perfect. We don't need some grand adventure to have fun." Béatrice tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "A lazy day could be nice. As long as we don't watch another thriller. I need something light." "Rom-coms it is," Caleb declared, ignoring the collective groans from everyone else. As the laughter filled the kitchen, I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. These were the moments that mattered—the small, simple ones that turned into lasting memories. And for once, even with Béatrice in the mix, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be. Maybe hosting wasn't so bad after all.