..Out of the Blue ..💙

41. Melting

The smell of fresh toast and sizzling butter teased Zoya awake before the sunlight did. She blinked groggily, stretching across the empty bed, expecting the usual — Monica's cold demeanor

But what she saw from the hallway made her stop mid-step.

Monica. In the kitchen. Hair loosely tied, sleeves rolled, focused entirely on the pan like it was some chemistry experiment.

Monica Mittal was making breakfast.

Zoya blinked again.

Not only that — she looked good doing it. The kind of good that made Zoya shamelessly stare from the doorway, biting back a smile.

She stepped in quietly, her oversized tee slipping a little off one shoulder — Monica’s tee, in fact — barely covering the small shorts underneath. Monica, of course, felt her presence instantly but didn’t turn, just smirked slightly to herself at the memory of last night.

Athena sat at the table swinging her legs. “mom,” she called, “can you get the jam? It’s way up there!”

Zoya nodded and padded barefoot to the cabinet, rising on her toes and stretching. The shirt lifted with her, exposing just a sliver of her waist, as well as her perfect round ass, in those ridiculously tiny shorts.

Monica turned from the stove to get a full, uninterrupted view.

She should’ve looked away.

She didn’t.

Instead, she slowly walked up behind Zoya — who was still reaching, utterly oblivious.

Then, Monica’s hands gently slid onto her sides, fingers brushing her bare skin.

Zoya jolted slightly. “Oh–” she exhaled, barely turning her head.

“There’s absolutely no need for you to struggle,” Monica murmured, her breath brushing Zoya’s neck, “when I have longer arms.”

Zoya’s breath caught, eyes fluttering shut for a second — until Monica casually reached over her shoulder, plucked the jam bottle like it was nothing, and walked away without another word.

“Seriously?” Zoya called after her, flustered and half-laughing. “You’re just going to pretend you didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Monica asked innocently, placing the jar on the table. “Assist in a jam-related crisis?”

“You’re impossible ” Zoya muttered, turning bright red.

Monica turned over her shoulder with a knowing smirk.
“But I’m still your favorite jam dispenser.”

---

Just as Monica was plating the last of the eggs, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house. Before Zoya could even ask who it was, Athena squealed from the table, “It’s Nani! It’s Nani!”

Zoya's eyes widened. “Wait—Grace is visiting now?”

Monica sighed, almost dramatically. “She said she might stop by this week. Apparently ‘might’ meant today.”

Moments later, Grace Mittal stepped into the kitchen like she owned the place, wearing a cream-colored sweater her silver-streaked hair pulled into a graceful bun. Her sharp eyes scanned the scene in front of her — Monica in an apron, Zoya awkwardly holding a plate, and the dining table set.

Grace paused in the doorway, brow raised. “Oh my,” she said slowly, a grin tugging at her lips. “Did I enter the wrong house? Monica Mittal is cooking?”

Zoya snorted and bit her lip, glancing at Monica, whose eyes rolled hard.

“It’s not that surprising,” Monica muttered, setting the pan down.