Part Twelve - Part Three

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We head into the nearest supermarket, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I pull a cart out of the row, and Vinnie immediately starts grabbing ingredients off the shelves. Eggs, milk, flour—basically everything we need to make pancakes.

"Can we just get the pancake mix?" I groan, eyeing the pre-made stuff with desperation.

Vinnie raises an eyebrow at me, his lips curling into that cocky grin of his. "Nope. Homemade is where it's at. Besides, I'm Italian. I take my food seriously." He winks, swiping a bag of sugar off the shelf.

I roll my eyes. Is it a rule that all Italians are ridiculously good-looking? It's like they're genetically engineered to be supermodels. I glance at Vinnie as he grabs another ingredient. Despite our "just friends" status, it's hard to ignore the fact that he's, well, impossibly hot.

"We're skipping lecture tomorrow. It's already 3:26 AM," Vinnie says, shaking his head like I should've known better.

I look at the time on my phone and nod. "Agreed. No way I'm waking up in three hours for that hellhole."

We start unloading our haul onto the conveyor belt. The cashier, an elderly lady with a twinkle in her eye, looks up at us. She's smiling that knowing smile, the kind one would give when one sees something a little too sweet.

"You two make such a cute couple," she says, her voice light. "I ship it."

Vinnie and I exchange a glance, then burst out laughing.

"Thanks," we say in unison. We grab our bags and head for the door, giggling like schoolkids.

As soon as we're outside, I let out a dramatic sigh. "That lady wants us to be a thing. I wish she was my grandma. Mine doesn't even know what a 'ship' is. She probably thinks it's something I need to get fixed on my car."

Vinnie chuckles, running a hand through his messy hair. "Yeah, except we're not a couple, so..."

"Right," I say, trying to act serious. "We're just two good-looking guys buying pancake ingredients at three in the morning."

He laughs, shaking his head. "Nothing weird about that at all."

We get home, and after setting everything out, Vinnie stands there rubbing the back of his neck. The movement is familiar, like a nervous tick of his, something he does when he's unsure.

"Listen," he says, glancing at me, his voice dropping slightly. "I've never actually made pancakes before. Or baked anything, really. And, uh... so, if I mess up, just go easy on me, okay?" He gives me a sheepish grin that I can't help but laugh at.

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "Mr. Italian-food-snob has never made pancakes? What's next, you've never had pizza?"

He holds his hands up defensively. "I take food seriously. Doesn't mean I'm a wizard in the kitchen."

I shrug. "You're lucky I'm just as bad at cooking. We're doomed."

"Google it," he says, already pulling out his phone like it's his best friend.

"Good call," I mutter, and we find a recipe. We mix everything in a bowl, and I go to check my phone while Vinnie takes over the pan. As I scroll, I can't help but snicker.

"Hey, did you know Vinnie is a pizza place in Cape Town, South Africa?" I say, glancing up at him.

Vinnie rolls his eyes, flipping the pancake. "What, now you're googling me? At least my name's in a dictionary, though. What about you?"

I pull up my name. "Hey, my name isn't even in the dictionary," I say, a little stunned.

Vinnie smirks. "Exactly. But at least I'm memorable."

Just then, the smell of smoke hits me. "Vinnie! The pancakes!"

A little later, we both stare down at the blackened lumps in front of us. They look like they've been through a war. Vinnie frowns at them, his face scrunched up in disbelief.

"Maybe we can salvage them with Nutella?" I suggest, trying to make light of the disaster.

Vinnie, however, picks up the leftover flour and blows it all over me, and I gasp as it coats my face and hair.

I wipe my eyes and glower at him. "You did not just—"

"Oops." Vinnie grins, entirely unrepentant.

I grab some leftover batter when he's not looking and smear it down his cheek. He laughs loudly, then picks me up like it's nothing, flinging me upside down, my shirt slipping dangerously close to my face.

"Say you're sorry," Vinnie says, his voice dangerously playful as he holds me there.

"Never!" I shout, squirming, but his grip is unshakable.

He tickles me, making me lose my breath from laughing. Finally, I give in. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Now let me go!"

He laughs, dropping me on the floor. I groan, rubbing my back. "Jerk," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

I lie there, the mess of flour and batter covering the floor around me. For a second, it feels oddly peaceful. Vinnie lies next to me, both of us staring up at the ceiling. There's a patch of egg yolk above us, a reminder of our disaster.

"Do you ever just—" I start, then pause, quoting a line from The Fault in Our Stars, "—lie here and forget everything?"

Vinnie looks over at me, his grin wide. "No. But I'd definitely fuck you."

I laugh, a little breathless. "You're disgusting."

"Yeah," he says, nudging me. "But you love it."

We spend the next half hour cleaning up the kitchen, which is basically a disaster zone. Flour is everywhere—on the counters, the floor, the ceiling.

I swear, there's even a little clump in Vinnie's hair, but he refuses to let me touch it. He says it's "part of his charm," whatever that means.

"I'm never baking again," I declare as I scrub at the sticky mess on the floor.

Vinnie leans against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. "You say that now, but I can see it in your eyes. You're already planning our next kitchen disaster."

"You're insane if you think I'm going near another stove," I shoot back, throwing a dishrag at him.

He catches it mid-air, without even trying. "Fine. Then we'll order pizza next time. But we'll make it our pizza. No one else's. Just ours."

I roll my eyes, grabbing the broom and sweeping up the rest of the flour. "That sounds suspiciously like a 'just friends' thing, Vinnie."

He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest smirk tugging at his lips. "Just friends?" He repeats, walking closer to me. "You don't think we make a good team?"

I blink, my heart skipping for a second. "Sure, if your idea of a good team is setting the kitchen on fire and making the worst pancakes in history."

Vinnie laughs, his voice dropping into something a little softer. "Hey, it's not that bad. We just need practice."

I stand up straight, a little too fast. "Nope. I'm out. I need a break from all this... chaotic 'cooking.'"

Vinnie gives me a look, something between amused and suspicious. "Break, huh? What are you going to do? Go to bed and dream of being a professional pancake maker?"

"Something like that," I say, grabbing my phone. "In the meantime, I'm going to see if the Internet has any better ideas for our next disaster."

"You're not gonna google me again, are you?" Vinnie teases, taking a step closer.

I glance up, locking eyes with him. "Maybe. Maybe I'll google 'How to survive a friendship with a guy who thinks he's funny but is actually just a mess.'"

His grin grows wider, and I can tell he's about to make some sort of smart remark, but I'm already moving past him toward the couch. He follows me, flopping down beside me.

"Hey, I'm not the only mess here," he says, nudging my shoulder with his. "I think you're just as bad as me."

I shoot him a playful glare. "Yeah, right. You're the one who's a walking disaster."

"Sure," he replies, giving me a side-eye. "But I'm your walking disaster."

Before I can respond, Vinnie grabs the TV remote and starts flipping through the channels, completely unfazed by the mess around us. I sit back, crossing my arms, watching him as he scrolls through Netflix like it's an Olympic sport.

I roll my eyes. "You know, I'm starting to think you might be the worst roommate ever."

Vinnie raises his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm not just a roommate. I'm also your best friend. That's gotta count for something, right?"

I pause for a second, thinking about it. "Yeah, yeah. I guess you're not that bad... for a walking disaster."

Vinnie grins, satisfaction written all over his face. "Told you." He reaches over and nudges me again, a little softer this time, the air around us shifting slightly. "You know, I kind of like our chaos."

I can't help but chuckle, nudging him back. "Yeah, me too. But next time, I'm picking the activity."

Vinnie leans back on the couch, a contented smile on his face. "Deal. But only if it involves more snacks and less flour."

"Agreed," I say with a grin, knowing full well we'll probably end up in the same messy situation again. But for now, I'm okay with that.

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