Page 16 of His Orders

Oh, hell.

5

ETHAN

The pan clatters against the stove, a sharp metal-on-metal collision that disrupts the morning stillness. Ivy curses under her breath, fumbling to steady it, her shoulders tensed in frustration. She doesn’t hear me step in, too focused on whatever battle she’s waging with her tea-making abilities.

I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching for a moment before finally making my presence known. “Good morning.”

She jumps, spinning around with wide eyes before scowling at me. “Jesus, Ethan. Ever heard of making noise like a normal person?”

I bite back a grin and shrug. “Didn’t realize I needed a bell.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to the counter, determined to ignore me. The remnants of sleep still cling to her—messy hair, the curve of her shoulders a little softer, the stubborn furrow in her brow making her look younger than she usually lets herself. There’s something strangely domestic about it, Ivy standing ina quiet kitchen, trying to make tea like it’s the most important thing in the world.

I push off the doorway and walk toward her, glancing at the mess she’s made. “Step aside.”

Her brow lifts. “Excuse me?”

“You’re clearly struggling.” I gesture at the pan, the scattered tea leaves, the milk that’s very close to spilling. “And I don’t feel like dealing with the fire department before breakfast.”

Her lips press together, eyes narrowing. “Oh, and I suppose you’re an expert?”

I turn on the burner, pouring in the right balance of water and milk before measuring out the tea leaves. “I know how to save lives, Ivy. Think I can handle a cup of tea.”

She crosses her arms, watching as I let the tea simmer, patient as the color deepens and the steam rises in slow curls.

“Did they teach that in med school?”

“Right between ‘How to Ignore Sleep Deprivation’ and ‘Why Your Social Life No Longer Exists’.” I toss her a look. “Very advanced coursework.”

She frowns, clearly unimpressed but still watching closely as I strain the tea into two mugs. When I slide one toward her, she picks it up with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for high-stakes situations. Then she takes a sip.

The second it touches her tongue, her eyebrows lift slightly.

I let the moment stretch before leaning against the counter. “Well?”

She takes another sip, slower this time, like she’s annoyed by how good it is. “I hate that this is actually decent.”

I grin, satisfied. “Told you. You should probably just start listening to me on all things.”

She sighs dramatically. “God, that’s the last thing I need.”

I tap the side of my mug. “It’ll make your life easier.”

She mutters something about my unbearable ego before taking another sip, her shoulders finally relaxing as the gentle hit from the caffeine settles into her. I watch her for a beat before setting my cup down. “Come on.”

She looks up. “Where?”

“Bagels.”

She blinks. “It’s barely eight in the morning.”

“And?”

She stares like she’s searching for a reason to argue but eventually sighs, pushing away from the counter. “If they’re bad, I’m holding it against you for life.”

“Duly noted.”

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