The oil sizzled and Naomi jumped back from the pan.

"You okay?" Killian asked where he was battering the chicken.

"I didn't know it would do that. Darla never fried stuff like this." She curiously moved closer.

"Not too close, in case it pops."

"Pops?"

"I think that's normal?" he questioned, shrugging. "How's the waffles going?"

He had surprised her with a waffle iron, knowing they couldn't try to make chicken and waffles without it.

The maker had a light that turned green when they were done.

Naomi moved back to her own station, tossing a blueberry in her mouth. "Not done yet. It smells so good in here."

Killian smiled, flipping the chicken with a fork. "I hope it tastes good."

"You're a good cook, Kill, better than me." She offered him a blueberry, and he opened his mouth like a bird. She stood on the tips of her toes, but he still had to scrunch down for her to reach. She giggled happily.

"I doubt that. I'm impatient," he chuckled.

"Did your parents cook?"

"My mom was great. She tried to teach me, but I didn't like spending that much time indoors. I wish I would have."

"I can't remember if my parents did. I can't remember much of them," she said. "Did your mom write or keep any of her recipes?"

Killian hummed, a vivid memory of his mom sitting at the kitchen table with recipe cards surrounding her. But where did those all go?

"I don't know. I think she did, but I don't know where they could be."

It was quiet after that. He plated the chicken and got out some dishes.

The first bite Naomi took was like a party in her mouth, and she wiggled excitedly in her seat. "This is better than the restaurant."

Killian couldn't help but watch her. His heart fluttered. She was so lovely. He loved seeing her happy.

She paused her food dance, finding his eyes. "What?"

He smiled, "I love you."

Her cheeks reddened and her smiled widened. "I love you, Kill."

He pressed his lips to her forehead.