Zara stood back and surveyed her work. The food wasn't exactly what she'd hoped for. The spaghetti and meatballs, if you could call it that, looked more like a congealed mess than anything edible. The sauce was a strange shade of brown, and the meatballs were far from round. She took a hesitant sniff and immediately regretted it. The burnt smell filled her nostrils, and she fought the urge to gag.
"Well, that's a fail," she muttered to herself, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She glanced over at Xavier, still sitting on the couch, immersed in his phone. Zara sighed. She could already feel the hunger pangs kicking in, but this disaster of a meal was definitely not going to cut it.
Without much hesitation, she pulled out her phone and began scrolling through food delivery apps. Takeout was the obvious choice. She had no intention of eating that burnt mess she had created. Just as she was about to place her order, she remembered she needed the address for the delivery.
"Hey, Xavier," she called, turning to face him. "Can I get the address for delivery?"
Xavier didn't look up from his phone. "What do you need the address for?"
Zara's patience, already wearing thin after the cooking debacle, finally snapped. She put on the most sarcastic voice she could muster. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because I'm ordering takeout? Is that too difficult to understand?"
Xavier didn't respond immediately, still glued to his screen. Zara rolled her eyes and sighed. She was about to repeat herself when Xavier's nose twitched.
"Is that... burnt food I smell?" His voice was dripping with amusement now, and Zara could feel his gaze shift in her direction. He finally looked up from his phone, narrowing his eyes as he took in the scene.
Zara's face flushed with embarrassment. Xavier stood and slowly made his way to the kitchen, his steps light as he looked around. The kitchen was a disaster. There were ingredients strewn about, sauce splattered on the countertops, and the sad remnants of what had once been supposed to be a meal.
Then, his eyes landed on Zara's bandaged finger. He took a long look at it, then back at the kitchen, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Oh, I see now," he said, the teasing tone creeping into his voice. "You don't know how to cook, do you?"
Zara crossed her arms, trying to mask her irritation. "I know how to cook," she snapped. "It's just... not as easy as people make it look."
Xavier chuckled, unable to resist. "Right, well, that explains the disaster in here. And the blood on your finger." He leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. "Do you need a little cooking lesson, Zara?"
Her cheeks burned, and she shot him a glare. "I didn't ask for a cooking lesson, Xavier. I was just trying to make something. But, you know, if it's such a problem for you, I'll just order takeout."
Xavier raised an eyebrow at her, looking at the mess one last time before he shook his head with a smile. "No need for takeout. I'll cook instead. Consider it my contribution to saving you from poisoning yourself."
Zara narrowed her eyes, still a little embarrassed by the situation. "You think you can do better?"
"Absolutely," Xavier said, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "I can make a meal without turning the kitchen into a war zone. You can watch and learn if you like."
Zara bit back a smile. Despite the teasing, she was grateful that he was stepping in. Cooking wasn't her strong suit, and right now, she'd settle for anything that didn't taste like burnt rubber.
"Fine," she said with a shrug, "but no funny business. I'll be over here, pretending I know what I'm doing." She walked over to the couch, flopping down with a dramatic sigh.
Xavier just smirked as he made his way to the kitchen. "You'll be amazed," he called over his shoulder. "I make a mean spaghetti."