Banana Bread Theory… 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪 𝓼𝓾𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷
𝒢𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒽𝒶𝓂⁴⁴ 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
3.6K words.
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ fluff!!, online trends, former hookups mentioned, language, pet names (sweetheart), no y/n, garrett graham vs. baked goods, chronically online!logan, tucker saves the house from a small fire + garrett cutie patootie allegations
Ding Dong!
“Comin’,” Garrett calls out.
He pushes himself off the couch and heads toward the front door. Practice had ended an hour ago, and he still hasn’t done much besides shower and answer texts, already thinking about getting back to the conversation waiting on the couch when he reaches for the handle and pulls the door open.
The smile on the other side catches him slightly off guard.
Chelsea stands on the porch holding a loaf pan wrapped carefully in aluminum foil, both hands tucked underneath it like she’s presenting something important.
Her expression brightens the second she sees him, shifting her weight forward expectantly while Garrett stares back at her for a beat too long.
They haven’t really talked in weeks, not since the last time they’d hooked up, and seeing her standing on his porch on a random Tuesday afternoon is confusing enough that he has to glance around briefly to make sure he didn’t forget about some event.
“Hey, Chels.”
“Hi.”
Garrett’s eyes drift immediately toward whatever she’s carrying before returning to her face again. The foil is folded neatly around the edges and tied with a ribbon. He studies it for another second before lifting an eyebrow.
“Uh… What are you doin’ here?”
A nervous laugh escapes her. “I brought you something.”
He looks down at the pan again, then back at her.
“What is it?”
“Banana bread.”
For a moment he genuinely thinks there has to be another part of the explanation coming. Instead she just keeps smiling at him from the porch while he stands there holding the door open.
The silence stretches long enough that Garrett finally reaches forward and accepts it out of pure awkwardness, adjusting it in his hands while trying to fix his expression because he knows his face is already asking the question for him, why did you randomly show up and give me bread?
“Thanks.”
She nods ever so slightly, glancing over his shoulder, begging a silent question of her own. May I come inside?
“Was there something else?” He asks, stepping in her line of sight. Her expression falls just enough for him to notice.
“I just thought maybe we could hang out.”
Garrett blinks a few times, staring at the loaf pan in his hands before meeting her eyes again.
“I’ve,” he mumbles, clearing his throat uneasily. “I got a study session in a few hours.”
“—That’s not for awhile,” she jumps in eagerly, and his jaw tightens.
“Yeah,” Garrett says slowly. “I should probably get ready for it.”
“For a study session?” She chuckles, but it’s paper thin. Garrett can practically see the comparison happening in real time. All those nights she’d shown up at one in the morning and he’d answered the door with untamed curls, post-bar pizza stained shirts, and liquor lingering on his lips, not helping his case.
Garrett finally catches the look on Chelsea’s face and immediately realizes he’s probably being shorter than he means to be.
His free hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck while he searches for something nicer to say. The problem is that he really isn’t busy, and the problem underneath that is that he doesn’t particularly want to hang out with her even if he wasn’t.
“Hey,” he says more gently. “Thank you. Seriously. I’ve just got a lot goin’ on tonight.”
Her smile wavers, but she nods. “Another time?”
He gives her a polite nod. A few moments later she’s heading back down the front steps while he closes the door behind her, the latch clicking softly.
His phone buzzes again before he can think about it any longer. Garrett unlocks the screen immediately, his attention shifting right back where it had been before the doorbell interrupted him. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he reads through the newest message, already typing out a response while he walks toward the kitchen.
The loaf pan lands on the counter with a heavy thud. He crosses the rest of the kitchen and drops back against the opposite counter, one ankle crossing over the other while his thumbs move across the screen.
Across the room, Logan lifts his head. His eyes move from Garrett to the loaf pan as a smirk plays on his lips. “Who the hell is that from?”
Garrett doesn’t look up, chewing on the inside of his cheek distractedly. Logan waits, leaning into a counter a little as he looks for a sign of life. Nothing.
“Earth to G,” he says, louder this time. “Who is that from?”
Garrett’s thumbs finally stop moving and he looks up at Logan before looking down at the pan. He shrugs lazily. “Chelsea.”
Logan’s eyes immediately narrow and Garrett tosses his gaze to his phone fast as another notification rolls in.
“Chelsea Reed?” Logan asks, reaching a hand out, dragging the bread in front of him as he pulls at the little pink bow on top.
Garrett nods, completely unaware of the grin spreading across Logan’s face. “Damn, dude.”
That finally gets Garrett’s attention, he cocks an eyebrow at him, adjusting his stance a little. “Am I missing something?”
Logan pulls off the tin foil, leaning down to give it a deep sniff. “Fuck… That smells good, bud. You didn’t invite her inside or anything?”
Garrett's nose scrunches a little, brows furrowing. “No.”
“Seriously?”
“Why would I?”
A laugh escapes Logan before he can stop it. “Why are you acting like that’s not a thing? She’s hot. She’s obviously into you. You two still got somethin’ goin’ on?”
“—No,” Garrett steps in fast, shaking his head. “Not for a couple weeks now.”
“Well,” Logan murmurs, grabbing a fork, digging in. “Guess the theory didn’t work.”
“Theory?” Garrett asks, his interest piqued for the moment.
Logan closes his eyes, nodding at the taste. “The theory,” he mutters through a mouthful of food.
Garrett’s brows pull together. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Logan digs in for another bite, eyes rolling back in his head. “This shit’s fantastic—”
“Dude what theory?” Garrett asks again, his arms crossing over his chest, finally giving him his full attention.
“Internet says banana bread is basically the fastest way to make a guy fall in love with you—S’workin’ on me.”
Garrett lets out a short laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “You shittin’ me?”
“I shit you not,” Logan sighs, taking down another slice in seconds. “It’s thoughtful. Romantic. Delicious. It says I was thinking about you. Here’s some sugar and some old bananas.”
“That’s dumb,” Garrett mumbles.
“Is it?” Logan asks.
“You know how chronically online you sound?” Garrett chuckles under his breath, pushing away from the counter.
Garrett wanders closer, resting both palms against the top while he studies what remains of the loaf, nearly half of it already gone.
The banana bread sits between them, seemingly working its magic on a man with absolutely no emotional attachment to the person who made it.
Garrett squints at it for a second as the wheels start to turn.
What would it do for somebody like him?
𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻…
John Tucker barely makes it two steps inside before he stops completely. Something smells wrong. There is definitely banana somewhere in the mix, but whatever else is happening underneath it has gone horribly off the rails.
The air carries a strange combination of burnt sugar, something vaguely chemical, enough smoke to make him wonder if he should already be dialing 911.
His eyes lift slowly to the ceiling, catching the gray haze hanging over the entire first floor. Smoke has gathered along the ceiling in lazy clouds, drifting from the kitchen into the living room like a weather system settling over the house.
The shrill scream of the smoke detector cuts through the house. Tuck rounds the corner into the kitchen and immediately freezes.
Garrett’s standing underneath the alarm waving a bright pink oven mitt over his head. Sweat drips down his chest and disappears into the waistband of a pair of gray sweatpants. His curls are damp and sticking in every direction, shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths like he just finished killing a penalty in overtime.
Across the room, Logan is sitting on top of the kitchen island with his phone in one hand and a slice of banana bread in the other.
The alarm finally cuts off and Garrett lowers the oven mitt slowly before dropping his head, blowing out a long breath.
One hand settles on his hip while the other braces against the counter beside him. Sweat glistens across his chest and shoulders, a rough cough choking past his lips.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Garrett mumbles before Tucker can even ask him what happened.
The pink oven mitt hangs loosely from one hand, the heel of his sneakers digging into the kitchen floor like a kicked puppy.
“You good, bud?” Tuck asks as he steps closer, assessing the scene, his backpack dropping to the floor.
“I need your help.”
Tucker glances around the kitchen once more before rolling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “What are we workin’ with here?”
Garrett gestures vaguely toward the counter—toward the mess. “I’m trying to make banana bread.”
“You’re trying to make banana bread?” Tucker asks like he never thought those words would leave Garrett Graham’s lips and honestly, neither did Garrett Graham.
“Mhmm.”
“—You burned chicken nuggets last night.”
“I know.”
“You asked me how to scramble eggs.”
“Tuck, c’mon,” Garrett mumbles weakly, his shoulders slumping heavily.
He takes the oven mitt off Garrett’s hand and opens the oven door, a thick plume of black smoke billowing out. All three boys cough up a lung, wafting the smoke away, revealing what lies inside.
The inside looks like soup, the outside resembling something that had fallen to earth from space.
“Holy shit,” Tucker chuckles, his fist half-covering his smile when he sees how wounded Garrett looks at his first attempt.
“It’s better than I thought it’d look,” Garrett breathes.
“—Nothing about this makes any sense,” Tuck whispers as Logan snickers in the back.
“You think it’s salvageable?” He asks, running his hand through his hair anxiously.
“Absolutely not,” Tucker answers as he pulls it out, the liquid in the middle jiggling like molten Jello. He rests it on the counter, grabbing a fork, dipping in the middle. “I mean, maybe we could pour it into something smaller and pray.”
“Yeah?” Garrett asks hopefully, watching Tuck dip the tip of a spoon into the center.
“Sure—Holy fuckin’ shit,” Tucker dives for a water bottle as soon as the liquid hits his tongue and Logan folds over laughing.
“It can’t be that bad.” Garrett rolls his eyes and takes a bite himself. His face twists and his jaw locks. “Terrible, holy hell,” Garrett spats, rubbing the food and the taste off his tongue with a kitchen towel, the man still sweating profusely, his heart rate far too high for bread making.
“What did you put in there?” Tucker asks curiously.
Garrett gestures to the counter, pointing as he goes. “Sugar. Flour. Bananas. Eggs—”
“So, salt, flour, bananas, and eggs, bro. That’s salt.”
“Nah.”
“Yah,” Tucker breathes as Garrett tests a little for himself from the jar and sure as shit it’s salt.
Garrett closes his eyes and drags both hands down his face. “I’m trying my best.” Tucker rests a hand on Garrett's sweaty shoulder, patting him supportively.
“I know you are, buddy. How much time do you have left?” He asks as Garrett glances toward the clock on the microwave.
“An hour and a half—”
“Perfect,” Tucker says immediately. “I only need an hour.”
Relief flashes across Garrett’s face for a second before something changes behind his eyes. He straightens up a little, hand resting low on his hip while the other points to the bowl.
“You can’t touch it.”
Logan snorts out a little laugh and hangs his head. “You cannot be serious.”
“M’serious,” he answers. “I gotta make it myself.”
“—Why?” Tucker asks, pulling the dry ingredients out of the cupboard.
“Our boy is suspicious,” Logan answers. “G’s about to pull some Etsy witch shit and make his tutor fall in love.”
“Ohhhh,” Tucker smiles, pointing at Logan from across the table like the pieces finally clicked. “Banana Bread Theory.”
“Mhmm,” Logan mumbles as he takes the last slice out of the loaf pan.
“Just help me,” Garrett pleads. “Please.”
𝓐𝓷 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪 𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓯 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻…
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚝?
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚃𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚃𝚞𝚌𝚔. 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 😭
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗: 𝚂𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚢.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍?
The loaf of banana bread sits tucked beneath one arm while his backpack hangs from one shoulder. He adjusts his grip on the container, checking the lid before he checks it again, three hours of baking disasters and near house fires doing jack-shit for his confidence.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚃𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛: 𝚃𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗: 🕯️𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 🕯️𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢 🕯️𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 🕯️𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊 🕯️𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌 🕯️𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 🕯️🕯️🕯️ 𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚆 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚜 🕯️🕯️🍌
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜?
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗: 𝙶 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙽𝙾𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙰𝚂𝙺𝙴𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗: 𝙸𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚢.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚃𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛? 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗: 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖… 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐?
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚞. 𝚖𝚔𝚊𝚢? 🫶🏼
Garrett shakes his head and slips his phone into his pocket. His hand disappears into his dark curls again as he reaches the top of the stairs.
He looks to the left and there you are, his stomach twisting into nervous knots. Which is insane. He’s walked into championship games with less anxiety than he feels carrying a loaf of banana bread through Briar University’s library.
Your legs are crossed, head cradled in your hand as you run your highlighter across the page. The iced coffee he knows you probably snagged hours ago sits sweaty and completely melted on top of a pile of old notes. Your foot bobs along with the music in your earbuds and he can’t help but wonder what you’re listening to.
You bite your lip in concentration, tapping the page as you read, and even though you’re doing something so simple, he can’t take his eye off of you.
You never seem aware of the effect you have on people—on him. You talk about exams, research papers, and internship opportunities with the same excitement he reserves for a big game. You are brilliant in a way that makes everybody else seem lazy. Including him. Especially him.
And, it isn’t the fact that you’re the smartest person he’s ever met. It isn’t only your smile, or your eyes he gets lost in if he looks too long. It’s not just one thing. It’s all of it.
A collection of moments shared between him and the girl who’s seemingly too busy for anyone else. But somehow, you share your time with him.
The worst part is that none of this is usually hard for him. Garrett Graham has never spent three hours making banana bread for a girl before. He’s never stood in a library trying to calm his heart rate before walking over to a table.
And he definitely has never imagined himself working this hard for something this silly to work out in his favor.
He drags a hand through his hair one more time before walking over, immediately annoyed with himself for doing it, his fingers tightening around the container instead. A smile starts pulling at the corner of his mouth when he steps closer to the table.
“Hey.”
Your head lifts from your notes the second his shadow falls across the table.
“Hey, you.” The greeting lands exactly the way it always does. Garrett tries to hide it, ducking his head a little as he drops into the chair beside you.
His backpack slides from one shoulder, to the floor while he settles into the seat, nodding over to your drink, catching the way the cup has essentially waterlogged a pile of old notes. “Coffee flavored water?”
“Ugh,” you grumble, rolling your eyes with a smile. “Got a little lost in everything today.”
“I can see that,” he smiles, scooting a little closer.
Your eyes drift toward the container sitting beside his things. Something is wrapped around it, holding the lid in place, and it takes you a second to realize what you’re looking at. The white lace is tied into an admittedly lopsided bow across the top.
“You brought a snack?” You ask, taking a sip of your drink.
“Nah,” Garrett answers, glancing down at it before sliding the container across the table. “For you.”
“Seriously?”
“The lace is clean. Promise.”
“A little secure for baked goods, Graham,” you tease as you dig at the knot a little with your nail, loosening it. “You tied a double knot.”
“Habit.” Garrett glances away the second his voice cracks. “I was a little nervous, I guess.”
Your eyes flick up to his, wondering if you caught those seven words just right—and you did.
“Didn’t have a bow layin’ around the house.”
“It’s perfect,” you smile, tugging the lace free. “Very Garrett Graham. I love it.”
You glance down at the container again before looking back up. “Thank you.”
“‘Course.”
“It isn’t my birthday,” you whisper, saving him the embarrassment.
He chuckles and nods, drumming his fingers against the table. “I know.”
“So what am I missing?”
“Nothing.” The smile never leaves his face, instead it gets a little bigger. “I just wanted to make it for you.”
The words settle, breathing through the library while a hundred tiny moments suddenly start rearranging themselves in your memory. The way he always shows up early. The way he remembers things you’ve mentioned once and never brought up again. The way he somehow finds reasons to stay after your study sessions end. The way he looks at you sometimes when he thinks you’re focused on your notes instead.
Your hands come up and cover part of your smile.
“Did Tucker help you make this?” You ask.
“I made it.” Garrett points at his chest. “He supervised… aggressively.”
You bite your cheek, holding back a smile but the thought of him taking time out of his day, asking his friend for help to make something, the hockey lace bow, the little nervous way the corner of his mouth trembles each time he smiles, it’s sweet.
“This smells amazing,” you praise, pulling back the top, and the relief that crosses over his face has you holding back a nervous laugh yourself.
You break off a piece and take a bite as Garrett holds his breath, waiting for your verdict.
“Hmm?” He asks before you can even assure him.
“This is incredible.”
You take another bite and Garrett watches you chew. His brown eyes drop toward your mouth, lingering for a moment before they veer away, like he caught himself doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.
The moment lasts less than a second but it still makes your pulse stumble.
He looks back at you like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.
“What?” You ask.
“Uh… You—Umm… You got a crumb.”
Your hand immediately lifts, brushing at your lips.
“Nope,” he chuckles, leaning in a little more, cupping your cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of your mouth. “There you go.”
His hands fall away and your heart skitters and all you can think about is the contact, and how you can get that again. You stare at him for another second before breaking off a piece and holding it toward him. “You want some?”
His attention flicks to the piece in your hand, then back to your face, nodding yes. The proximity is close enough that the only option is to eat it off your fingers.
For a second he looks almost surprised that you’re serious. Then he leans forward and takes the bite directly from you.
Garrett sits back slowly, chewing once before dropping his gaze to the table. Like he suddenly isn’t sure what to do with himself.
“Good?” You ask quietly.
Garrett finishes chewing before a grin starts pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Definitely worth three hours.”
You gasp, half-teasing half-genuinely surprised. “You’re joking,”
“Forget I said that.”
“I can’t,” you giggle, tilting your head a little, watching him melt into his palm as he relaxes a little more.
“Almost burned the house down,” he chuckles.
“Oh my god.”
“Worth it,” he breathes. “Your smile’s incredible by the way.” Your cheeks warm up instantly, your lips tilting, finding yourself having to turn away for a moment. “Stunning.”
“You’re sweet. This… This is seriously so thoughtful,” you whisper, playing nervously with the lace between your fingers. “Thank you.”
And for a moment the library fades into the background, and for the first time in a long time, none of it feels particularly important.
Garrett’s still leaning toward you from where he took the bite, his elbow resting on the edge of the table. And just like before, his eyes drift down for a second before lifting back to yours again, and this time neither of you looks away.
And, in the back of his mind he can’t help but wonder how sweet your lips would taste.
He smiles softly to himself. One thing at a time.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
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