Chapter 2
¬ Small Kitchens, Big Feelings ¬
Gigi stands in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee. The steam rises from the mug, and for a moment, she almost hears Cecilia’s teasing voice in her head. That’s disgusting, she’d say, followed by a dramatic roll of her eyes. Gigi chuckles softly, shaking her head at the thought.
She doesn’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late.
“Morning,” Cecilia’s voice breaks the quiet, low and still wrapped in the softness of sleep.
Gigi startles, nearly spilling her coffee, and turns just enough to catch a glimpse of her—Cecilia with her hair slightly mussed, her expression unguarded, and her movements slow, as if she hasn’t quite adjusted to being awake.
Gigi swallows hard, quickly looking back at her mug, willing her heart to stop its erratic fluttering. “Morning,” she says, her voice steadier than she feels.
Cecilia steps closer, and Gigi instinctively moves to the side, giving her room. But it’s not enough.
Without a word, Cecilia reaches toward the cupboard above Gigi, her arm brushing against Gigi’s shoulder as she stretches. Gigi doesn’t register what’s happening until it’s too late—until Cecilia’s presence is impossibly close, her other hand steadying herself on the counter beside Gigi, effectively caging her in.
Gigi freezes.
It’s not intentional. She knows that. Cecilia isn’t thinking about how her body presses lightly against Gigi’s back, or how her breath tickles the edge of Gigi’s ear as she hums in mild frustration, searching for the right mug.
But Gigi is.
Every nerve in her body is suddenly hyper-aware of the situation. The warmth radiating from Cecilia, the way her hair brushes lightly against Gigi’s temple, the faint scent of lemongrass lingering from her—everything about her. It’s overwhelming.
“There it is,” Cecilia mutters to herself, her tone still thick with the haze of sleep. She grabs the mug, her favourite one, and pulls back with the same casual ease she always carries, as if nothing at all has happened.
“Sorry,” she says, her voice light. “Didn’t mean to crowd you. Small kitchen.”
Small kitchen. Right. That’s all it is.
“It’s fine,” Gigi replies, the words automatic, though her heart is still racing like it might give out any second. She tries to take another sip of her coffee, but her hands feel unsteady, the porcelain trembling slightly against her lips.
Cecilia doesn’t notice. She’s already moving toward the kettle, humming softly under her breath as she sets about preparing her tea, utterly oblivious to the chaos she’s left in her wake.
Gigi stares into her mug, willing her pulse to slow, her thoughts to quiet. But they don’t.
She thinks of something whimsical—a fleeting image of a prince rescuing a damsel in distress, or a knight standing too close to a queen. The thought almost makes her laugh. Almost. Because, who would be who? Suddenly that whimsical rework of Romeo and Juliet comes back. If Cecilia was Romeo, how would she—
“What’s so funny?” Cecilia asks, glancing over her shoulder, her expression one of lazy curiosity.
Gigi blinks, realising the smile she’s been holding has betrayed her. “Nothing,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “Just... nothing.”
But it’s not nothing. It never is.
And yet, she stays silent. Because what could she possibly say? That her mind has been spinning ever since Cecilia walked in? That she feels like she might combust from the simplest touch? That every tiny, unintentional moment feels like it’s pulling her deeper into a place she can’t escape?
No, she couldn’t say any of that. So instead, she sips her coffee, keeps her head down, and hopes Cecilia can’t hear the way her heart is still racing.