The coffee was perking, the bread was in the toaster ready to start so it'd be hot when they ate, and the omelette was folded over and browning on the second side, when Amber came into the kitchen. Foreman dropped the spatula and turned around. He laughed when he saw her wearing his hoodie--it was big enough to droop past her hips, and if she hadn't tucked the sleeves back, they'd have fallen over her wrists. The hood rumpled at her neck, underneath her hair. Foreman's heart gave a silly flutter, which he was not going to think about, other than acknowledge that he wanted Amber to steal his clothes more often, if she was going to look that cute wearing them. "Perfect timing," he said, hauling her closer for a kiss--tender, but quick. He wasn't going to let his only culinary accomplishment burn before they'd had a chance to taste it. "That's why weekends have two mornings," he murmured, leaning in conspiratorily.

The hiss of the frying pan reminded him of what he was doing. This time he'd been more methodical, putting things away as he'd worked. There was a bowl of egg yolks that would need to be covered, but that could wait until after they ate. There were more dishes this time, but it was gonna be worth it.

"No rewards if you don't help." Foreman pushed the bar on the toaster and picked up the spatula again, testing it under the edge of the omelette. It lifted up easily--perfect. The cheese was starting to melt out at the edges, and the smell had him salivating. Over his shoulder, he said, "I can't find jam, or whatever you want on your toast. And--" He grinned, to make it clear it wasn't really a demand. "I take my coffee black, two sugars."