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“Your apartment is freezing.” Emily says, looping her arms around Andy's waist and burying her face into the back of her hoodie.
Andy hums over the eggs she's scrambling. They're sticking to the pan in a spectacular mix of white and yellow lumps. A little brown too, which meant she was burning them.
“And you're burning that.”
“I'm a journalist, not a chef.” Andy says, shuffling the pan over to the trash while Emily refuses to let go of her. “I mean, I eat coffee and live life on the edge. I don't have time to learn how to cook.”
“You don't know how to cook?” Emily pulled her head back with judgment in her tone.
Her body heat pressed against Andy's body was the only thing keeping her warm during this shitty January weather. The landlord wasn't fixing the heating any time soon.
Andy looked back at her. “I can cook. Lots of things… toast, and coffee, and sandwiches…”
“A machine does half of those things, Andy.”
“Yeah, but I add the butter and the sugar.” Andy says. “And that counts for something.”
Emily laughs. “God, I can't believe Miranda was ever impressed by you.”
“If she asked me to scramble her eggs for her, then yeah, she'd probably fire me. But I like to think I would have risen to the challenge and impressed her.” Andy says. “Yeah. I can probably cook. I just haven't unlocked that skillset yet.”
Emily presses a kiss to the back of Andy's neck. “Aw…”
Andy scoffed. “Aw? What's aw?”
“You're very cute.” Emily says. She hooks her hands into the pockets of Andy's Northwestern and squeezes her tighter. “Standing over a bin full of failure and denying reality. Proper delusional.”
With a sniff Andy says, “I love it when you use your mean British words…”
She finishes scraping the crap off the frying pan and dumps it in some water to soak.
“This is why I fail, so you'll be mean to me.” Andy says. “And then you'll say, you're helpless, and you need me to take care of you, and then you pay for breakfast.”
“Who says I'm paying for breakfast?” Emily asks lightly, hip checking Andy out of the way so she can grab a mug and put it on the counter.
“It's such a nice morning.” Andy nods at the single frozen window in the space her couch lived. A pink and gold light refracts through the frost. It probably is a very nice morning. Provided you are wearing several layers. “I thought you might like to take me out? Or I could take you out?”
“What about that toast and coffee?” Emily says dryly.
“There's toast and coffee outside.”
“Mmm, not bread.”
“They have fruit. And cheese.” Andy tries. “Please eat breakfast—”
“With me.” She adds when Emily looks at her.
Emily is quiet for a moment, no doubt internally weighing the maths of eating now rather than later. It's very uncomfortable being able to guess what she's thinking, because for a while there Andy was also thinking about how to keep fitting into clothes made to fit mannequins and not people.
“Fine.” Emily decides. “You're paying, and you're talking to that bell-end about the heating. Or I am.”
Andy shrugs. “Fine by me, he'll just have to take it.”
“Yeah.” Emily says, turning away. “And you ruined my underwear, so I'm nicking yours.”
Smug pride brought a smile to Andy's face and she followed Emily back into the ‘bedroom’.