Page 137 of Burning Bridges Duet

Please come over?

Not a minute later, there’s a knock on the door, and I rush to open it, relieved to see him standing there. Leaning with his forearm on the doorframe, he looks down at me. He’s dressed in black sweatpants and a tight black shirt, which perfectly complements my own attire of black sweatpants and our koi shirt.

“Hey, Casper,” Gunner greets me, flipping my nose. “You’ve got a little bit of flour on your face.” He chuckles, gently nudging me inside and closing the door behind him.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror on the back of the door and burst into laughter. My face is completely covered in white flour, creating quite the mess. Gunner laughs wholeheartedly upon seeing the state the kitchenette is in.

“Holy shit, what exploded?” he jokes.

I quickly make my way to the bathroom to clean my face. Returning to Gunner, I pout at him.

“I definitely need some help,” I admit, and he smirks.

“I gathered that,” he teases, moving to the sink to wash his hands. “So, what are we making?”

“Chase’s birthday is tomorrow, and I wanted to bake him some cupcakes. Since he likes coconut ice cream, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with vanilla cupcakes with coconut frosting,” I say, and Gunner chuckles.

“And you thought baking them instead of buying them would be a good idea because…?” He trails off teasingly.

“I genuinely thought baking couldn’t be that hard,” I admit, biting my lip.

He laughs again. “You’re adorable, but let’s get you out of the kitchen,” he says. “I fear for the kitchen utensils.”

I try to protest, but he doesn’t budge, instead gently pushing me over to my bed.

“Stay here,” he instructs, pointing a finger at me, and I obediently sit down with my legs crossed. He glances around the room. “Where’s the recipe?”

I point to my laptop on the desk, and he walks over to it. He scans the instructions before gathering the necessary ingredients, then he skillfully begins mixing everything together. I watch in awe as he effortlessly navigates the kitchen, turning the potential disaster into something promising.

“You’re good at everything, aren’t you?” I ask him, half in admiration and half in jest.

“No, but if I wanted to have a birthday cake, I had to make it myself,” he says, a hint of sadness in his voice. My heart hurts for him.

“Not anymore,” I vow. He glances around at the chaos in the kitchen and then back at me.

“If you really want to get me a birthday cake, please spare us all the mess and just buy one,” he says, a smile on his face. I flip him off.

“I’m going to buy you the best and prettiest fucking cake you’ve ever eaten,” I declare. He just smirks. “Speaking of birthdays, when is yours?” I ask, realizing that we hadn’t discussed it before.

“September twenty-seventh,” he says, seemingly unfazed, but I jump up in surprise.

“That was two weeks ago! Why didn’t I know about it?” He smiles at the shock on my face.

“It’s okay. We had a nice day anyway,” he assures me.

My mind races, trying to recall what day it was, He laughs at my puzzled expression.

“It was our Sunday at the beach,” he clarifies, and my eyes widen in realization.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have bought you a present or organized something special!” I say, feeling a pang of guilt. He simply shrugs, a gentle smile on his face.

“The day was special. I loved hanging with you all day at the beach, and there was pizza and a movie. It was the best birthday in a long time,” he says.

“How old did you turn?” I ask.

“Twenty-five,” he answers with a shrug.

“Fuck, I’m a shitty best friend,” I say on a groan. He points the spatula at me in a playful warning.