Abby
Sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, the soft clinking of our utensils is a comforting lullaby against the evening's silence. I sneak glances at Karl every now and then, his features illuminated with a gentle glow from the overhead light. He seems lost in his thoughts, enjoying every bite.
“This pasta turned out really well,” he murmurs, drawing my attention.
I chuckle, twirling another mouthful onto my fork. “Team effort, remember?”
Karl smiles. “Yes, but I think someone here had the magic touch, and it sure as hell wasn’t me.”
Laughing lightly, I shake my head. “You flatter too much, Mr. Know-It-All.”
As I twirl the spaghetti around my fork, Karl’s gaze meets mine, a hint of mirth in his eyes. “You know,” he begins, pausing for effect, “I never thought I’d see t
