47. Axel
Axel
I woke up to the sound of humming. Not angelic, peaceful humming—no, this was chaotic, syrup-splattered, I-might-have-murdered-a-waffle-maker kind of humming.
I blinked. The bed beside me was empty. That was my first red flag.
The second was the faint smell of smoke.
I yanked on a pair of sweats and stumbled out of the bedroom to find Lark standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding a fire extinguisher and glaring at the toaster like it had personally offended her.
“I was trying to make you breakfast in bed,” she said, sounding betrayed. “But your toaster is a liar. And maybe possessed.”
I looked at the counter. Half a pancake was stuck to the wall. A waffle was wedged in the sink. And the toaster… well, the toaster had seen better days.
“Lark,” I said slowly, “what happened?”
“I followed a recipe. Sort of. The waffles fought back. And the toaster… burst into flames. I saved your cabin and possibly your life.”
She crossed her arms and added, “You’re welcome.”
I tried not to laugh. Truly, I did. But the soot on her cheek and the defiant stance made it impossible.
“You’re incredible,” I said, pulling her close. “Also, you’re banned from making homemade waffles.”
“Fair. But next time, I’m trying eggs.”
I looked at the fire extinguisher still in her hand.
“I’ll buy a helmet.”