"It's just pasta," Ava said flatly, arms crossed as she watched Zach unload an absurd amount of groceries onto their kitchen counter.
"Exactly," Zach replied, smugly. "Which is why I should handle it. I've been boiling water since I was ten."
She arched a brow. "Congratulations. You want a trophy or a strainer?"
They were on their fourth attempt at a honeymoon-at-home date. After a blanket fort that collapsed on them, a movie night that turned into a debate about the correct ranking of Marvel villains, and a bubble bath that ended with both of them sneezing from an allergic reaction to rose petals—this time, they were going domestic. Romantic. Classic.
They were going to cook together.
Zach, ever the overachiever in impractical situations, had bought thirty cloves of garlic.
Ava blinked. "Why does this bag have thirty cloves?"
"The guy at the market said vampires are a real issue this time of year," Zach said with a completely straight face.
