Unexpectedly Expecting || BWWM

Ivory's POV ( 4484 word count)

The kitchen was warm and filled with the scent of simmering marinara sauce, the sound of my mom chopping vegetables blending with the faint hum of a radio in the background. Zyla had left earlier in the day, claiming she had "better things to do," though I suspected she didn't want Dean to end up bringing Weston without her knowledge.

Dean stood across the counter from me, awkwardly holding a wooden spoon like it might explode at any moment. He had insisted on helping, despite having no clue what he was doing.

"I don't think stirring sauce counts as cooking," I teased, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

He looked up, his lips curving into a crooked grin. "Hey, this is an important job. If I don't do it right, dinner's ruined."

My mom snorted softly from her spot near the sink. "Just don't let it burn, Keller."

Dean turned back to the stove, his shoulders tense but his focus determined. I couldn't help but watch him—this man who once seemed so untouchable, so smooth and unflappable, now fumbling his way through something as simple as dinner. It was...endearing.

"Careful," I said as he tilted the spoon too far, nearly splashing sauce onto the counter.

"I've got it," he said, though his tone wasn't convincing.

"You sure? Because I can take over if it's too much for you."

He shot me a mock glare. "I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of stirring sauce. You should be impressed I haven't burned it yet."

I laughed, and the sound felt strange in my chest—light, unburdened. It had been a long time since I'd felt anything close to that.

"Here," I said, moving closer and taking the spoon from his hand. Our fingers brushed, and I pulled back a little too quickly, focusing on the sauce instead of the warmth that lingered from his touch.

"You're a natural," he said, his voice softer now.

I glanced at him, finding his gaze fixed on me in a way that made my cheeks flush. "It's just stirring."

"Maybe to you," he murmured, almost to himself.

Before I could respond, my mom walked over, breaking the moment. "Keller, you've officially been demoted. Ivory, you're in charge of the sauce."

Dean held up his hands in surrender, stepping back with a grin. "Fair enough. I'll just supervise."

"Why don't you set the table instead?" I suggested, trying to shake off the sudden tension.

"On it," he said, heading toward the dining room.

When dinner was finally ready, Dean was already in the dining room, meticulously arranging plates and silverware. I paused in the doorway, watching as he adjusted a fork by barely half an inch.

"You know this isn't a five-star restaurant, right?" I said, stepping inside.

"Presentation matters," he replied, flashing me a smile. "You deserve nothing less."

I rolled my eyes, though my chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice.

"Also this is how my Mother taught me to set the table I can't help it" he chuckles setting down the last fork. I laughed with him.

As we all sat down, Dean instinctively pulled out my chair for me. My mom raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, though I could see the corners of her mouth twitching like she was holding back a smile.

Dinner was...nice. Easy, even. Dean didn't dominate the conversation the way I thought he might; instead, he listened, asked questions, and laughed at all the right moments. He even complimented my mom's cooking so earnestly that I thought she might actually be bashful.