Koda’s P.O.V.
The kitchen was bustling with the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans I was using to cook. The hiss of boiling water and the savory aroma of spices danced in the air. I was working hard, trying to add the last courses to my menu, and desperately forcing myself to clear my head, in the meantime, Adam, who had come by to pay me a quick visit, had just been an unexpected addition to my kitchen crew. Or a handyman in this case, since he was trying to install my dishwasher while I was trying to come up with another main course.
I flipped a steak on the griddle, dressed in my white chef’s coat, the sleeves rolled up to reveal my forearms. Adam, in stark contrast to myself, was wearing a black t-shirt over his muscular physique, a gym teacher turned temporary handyman, or maybe even
