I leaned back into the couch, letting my shoulders sink, the cushions still warm from earlier. From there, all I had to do was glance left to see the kitchen in full chaos—but the good kind.
Jasmine had her phone propped up against a spice jar, the viral cooking video paused mid-frame. On-screen, some overly enthusiastic influencer was frozen mid–dramatic sprinkle.
"Okay, right there," Jasmine said, holding up a finger. "This is where she messes up. She skips the sauce."
Eleanor stood at the counter, wooden spoon in hand, brow furrowed in concentration. "No, no, look—she adds the butter after the chicken rests. That's what gives it the gloss."
Tessa leaned over the counter, peering into the pan. "That looks like it's already burning."
"It's not burning," Jasmine shot back. "It's browning. There's a difference."
Eleanor laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, truce. Let's just do half your way, half mine."
Jasmine grinned. "Compromise. Democracy at work."
