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Chapter Eight: The Event of the Burnt Chicken

Author: Zoey Best
last update Last Updated: 2025-02-11 03:25:00

(James’s POV)

The moment Clarice slams the door in my face, I have to stifle a laugh.

Some things never really change.

I knock again, hoping she’ll come to her senses. “Rice.”

“Go away.”

I catch a faint whiff of something… smoky. “Do you smell something burning?”

Silence.

Then, muffled through the door: “NO.”

That’s it—I can’t hold it in anymore. I laugh. Loud enough to annoy her, which only makes it better.

“You know, if you were trying to impress me with your culinary skills,” I call through the door, “this is quite the tactic.”

The door swings open.

Clarice stands there, arms crossed, glaring up at me. And for just a second—just a second—I completely forget about the smoke and the charred whatever-it-is, and the fact that we haven’t seen each other in over a year.

Because there she is.

Hair pulled up in that messy bun she always does when she’s cooking. A smudge of something—flour? Salt?—on her cheek
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