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(James's POV)
The sky was still soft and gray when James pushed open the front door of the Quest estate. His shirt clung to his chest from the early run, the front gate having opened without resistance under his keycard swipe. He liked the quiet of Saturday mornings—liked them even more when the house wasn't brimming with scandal and judgment.
As he tossed his keys onto the hallway console and wiped his face with a hand towel, a faint, unexpected sound floated through the air: the clinking of pans. Movement. Someone in the kitchen.
At 6:43 a.m.?
His first instinct was Cassie, but Cassie didn't do kitchens unless there was champagne and someone else doing the work. So, curiosity pulled him forward. He turned the corner—
—and stopped short in the archway.
Blair.
Hair pulled up, apron tied snug around her waist, standing barefoot in the kitchen, rolling batter into a pan. Flour dusted the edge of her cheekbone, and there was a streak of chocolate on the tip of her finger she didn't seem to notice. She moved with quiet purpose, biting her lip in concentration as she checked the oven timer, one hand reaching for another bowl like she'd done this a thousand times.
She looked like—
He didn't even have a word for it.
Maybe domestically dangerous.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "So this is what it takes to get you out of bed early? Feeding the family?"
Blair didn't even flinch. "You should be thanking me. This is probably the only reason the family won't self-destruct before noon."
James smirked and walked in, eyeing the stack of half-sliced fruits, sizzling eggs, and— "Are those brownies?"
"Don't touch them," she warned, pointing a spatula like a weapon. "They're Cassie's."
He grabbed a grape from the tray instead. "Didn't peg you for the bake-your-feelings type."
She didn't answer right away, just cracked another egg into the pan and stirred. "Well, someone has to do something around here that isn't yelling, storming out, or spiraling."
He laughed under his breath. "You're cute when you're on a mission."
She looked up at him sharply. "Don't call me cute."
"I mean it in the hot, kitchen-goddess way."
"James."
"Blair."
She narrowed her eyes, face heating up, but her lips were fighting a smile. "Go shower or something. You're sweaty and annoying."
He stepped closer, peering into the oven. "You sure you don't need a taste tester?"
She nudged him with her hip. "Touch anything and I will poison your next smoothie."
He laughed then, fully, that deep, warm laugh that made her scowl deepen and her apron flutter as she spun around to chase him off with a dish towel.
"Jamesss!" she shouted after him.
But he was already backing toward the door, hands raised, still grinning. "I'm going, I'm going! You're scary with kitchen tools, I get it!"
As he walked out, the sound of her yelling still in his ears, he caught himself smiling again.
And thinking:
God, what is happening to me?
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(Blair's POV)
It was strange, the way James had spoken to her. Like they'd been on speaking terms for years. Like she hadn't moved into that house and spent two full weeks being ghosted by the very man who now waltzed into her kitchen smiling like it was theirs.
Blair wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at the kitchen door he had just disappeared through. What was that? Why was he—smiling? Laughing? Teasing?
It wasn't that she didn't know how to handle someone like James Covey. She did. She'd grown up around egos, around people who thought they were above her because they could talk louder or walk taller. But James had ignored her. Completely. And now?
Now he was making her laugh before breakfast.
She shook her head and got back to setting the table. Plates stacked neatly, forks perfectly aligned. She folded each napkin with precision, placing one at every seat around the long dining table.
By the time she placed the last dish of warm brownies in the center, she could hear footsteps echoing from the hallway upstairs.
Maddie came first, yawning with her bonnet still half on. "You're insane for doing all this," she said, eyes scanning the feast. "But I love you for it."
Blair smiled, brushing a crumb off the corner of the table.
Then came Caleb, hair wild and shirtless, muttering a sleepy, "Damn, Maybell. You got a husband hiding in this kitchen I don't know about?"
"You hungry or just here to disturb me?" Blair shot back, but her voice was light.
Soon, the rest trickled in—Jazmine with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Grace and Mary looking like they hadn't slept, Andrew with one sock on, and then James.
He didn't say anything this time. Just walked in, plucked a grape from the tray, popped it in his mouth, and smirked when her eyes met his.
He sat. Everyone else followed, mumbling sleepy thanks and groaning with happiness over the eggs, pancakes, and warm slices of banana bread.
Victor entered last, followed closely by Lily.
"Well, someone's earned the keys to our hearts," Lily said, her voice bright. She pulled Blair into a small side hug. "You didn't have to do all this, sweetheart."
Blair shrugged shyly. "I wanted to."
Victor smiled. "We appreciate it."
But her mind wasn't really on the compliments. Her eyes darted to the tray by the oven—stacked neatly with Cassie's plate, fruit bowl, and three brownies.
She walked over, picked it up, and turned to Mary. "She awake?"
Mary nodded, mouth full. "Yeah, I think she's been up for a while."
Blair nodded. "I'll take it to her."
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Cassie's room was dim when Blair knocked. The curtains were pulled, soft morning light leaking through the edges.
"Hey," Blair said gently, nudging the door open with her foot. "I brought breakfast."
Cassie looked up from her bed. No makeup, no usual high ponytail, no sass in sight—just her, raw and quiet. Her eyes immediately fell to the tray.
"You made brownies?"
Blair smiled, walking it over. "Yeah. Your favorite."
Cassie sat up slowly, pulling the covers to her chest. She looked at the tray like she didn't know whether to cry or eat.
Blair sat at the edge of the bed, letting the silence sit between them for a beat.
Then Cassie whispered, "I never realized he recorded us."
Blair stilled.
"He was my first boyfriend. Dustin," Cassie said, her voice quiet. "Dad never liked him. He was that guy—you know, leather jackets, motorcycles, tattoos he couldn't afford to finish. Cool in a fake kind of way. Toxic in a real kind of way."
Blair watched her, giving her space.
"I fell for him so fast. And I kept falling even when it hurt. We dated for two years. It was miserable. He made me feel like I had to change everything about myself—how I dressed, what I said, who I hung out with. I kept thinking he'd stop pushing if I just became the version he wanted. But I was never enough. And now…" she trailed off.
"A sex tape?" Cassie laughed bitterly. "That's a whole new level."
Blair leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. "Boys are stupid."
Cassie blinked.
"Like, truly. Brain-to-muscle ratio? Tragic."
Cassie gave a soft laugh, one that didn't quite hide the pain but lightened it for a second.
"You should eat," Blair said, nudging the tray closer. "I woke up at six for that brownie. If you don't eat it, I will."
Cassie looked down at the food, picking up the fork.
"You remembered I like strawberries."
Blair gave a small nod. "Of course."
Cassie looked at her for a long moment, then suddenly reached out and pulled her into a hug.
"Thank you," she whispered. "You always know what to do. I'm glad you're here."
Blair hugged her back, warmth spreading through her chest. "Me too."
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