Timothy's POV

Three days after Penelope's championship win, I showed up at her apartment with breakfast.

Not takeout this time. Actual homemade food that I cooked myself.

She opens the door in pajamas, hair messy, looking confused. "Timothy? What are you doing here?"

"Bringing you breakfast," I say, holding up the containers. "I made pancakes. Well, I tried to make pancakes. They're a little burnt but edible."

Penelope stares at me for a moment. Then she laughs. "You made me burnt ...