Mikey
That night, after everyone had left—including Macey’s mother—it was just the two of us at my place.
Macey was in the kitchen, preparing some chicken dish for dinner. I was hunched over my laptop, studying game films, but the enticing aromas wafting from the kitchen made it hard to concentrate.
I paused the film and got up, drawn by the scent. As I stepped into the kitchen, I found Macey humming a tune while she stirred something in a skillet.
“Something smells amazing in here,” I said, closing the distance between us.
“I am making Marry Me Chicken,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
“Marry Me Chicken? Is that a hint, Macey?” I teased, an eyebrow raised.
She laughed, the sound light and airy. “It is called that because the woman who created the recipe submitte
