Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❝Golden on the surface, hollow underneath.❞
gilded verb cover thinly with gold.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ
❝ promise me. ❞
█████▒▒▒▒▒
𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . chapter twenty-four
███████▒▒▒
⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙
" morning routine "
︑︒⚬∙︓·⠄
I mixed the batter, vigorously stirring as if I had a personal vendetta against it, while my mom worked on pancakes like she was running a five-star brunch spot. This was her idea—cookies and pancakes. Because apparently, one breakfast item wasn't enough, and we needed to live like royalty this morning. Also, she insisted the cookies be handmade, which was just a sneaky way of saying, You're doing all the work while I supervise.
It was Day Two of officially dating LaRusso, and so far, civilization hadn't crumbled.
(Yes, I'm keeping track.)
No natural disasters, no plagues, no ghosts appearing in my bathroom mirror to warn me of my terrible life choices.
Just a quiet, peaceful Saturday. I hadn't seen him yet, which meant he was probably off with Miyagi, doing... whatever they did. Waxing cars, catching flies, achieving inner peace—who knew.
A loud tsk from my mother snapped me out of my thoughts.
"My gosh, girl, you're making a mess," she sighed, walking over to brush a dusting of flour off my arm like I was some unruly child.
I grinned innocently as she turned back to flip a pancake with the ease of someone who had mastered the art of breakfast. Meanwhile, I managed to get cookie dough on my elbow.
Sooner or later—leaning toward later—the cookies were in the oven. Now came the waiting, which meant I flopped onto the couch like I had just completed a full day's labor.
The apartment smelled amazing, the warm scent of vanilla and melted butter filling every inch of the place. Sunlight streamed through the blinds in hazy golden streaks, and for once, everything felt slow.
