Robin’s POV

Micah stood in the doorway, watching me hover over the fridge like it might produce something better if I glared hard enough.

“You’ve been staring at that container like it owes you money,” he said.

“It does owe me something,” I muttered. “Peace. Closure. Satisfaction.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Is that the pasta you yelled at me for trying to eat yesterday?”

“Yes. Because I called dibs. You don’t mess with fridge dibs.”

“I was hungry,” he said, like that was a viable defense in court.

“And I was emotionally attached. You almost started a war.”

“I put it back.”

“Yeah, after I caught you...