Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 29: Chapter 29
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 29: Chapter 29. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
("Sometimes joy doesn’t announce itself.
It sneaks in through flour on your nose,
a lopsided pancake,
and someone who finally makes you forget
why you were sad in the first place.")
Leah didn’t plan to make pancakes.
She wasn’t really hungry. But after waking up to a text from Jade—
> “Still here. Still want pancakes.”
—something in her cracked into a smile.
So she found herself in her kitchen at 8:42 a.m., sleeves rolled, batter in a bowl, and the smallest hint of sunlight warming the counter.
Jade arrived in mismatched socks and a sleepy grin.
“Morning,” she said, stepping inside like she’d been doing it forever.
Leah raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I don’t actually know how to make pancakes properly, right?”
Jade grabbed a banana from the counter and shrugged. “Good. That means they’ll be terrible. I like terrible pancakes. They have character.”
Leah rolled her eyes—but she was already smiling.
The first pancake flipped too early and landed half-raw on one side.
The second was too thick.
The third… somehow folded itself?
“I’m starting to think these aren’t pancakes,” Jade said, watching the latest blob steam on the pan.
Leah tried not to laugh. “They’re… interpretive pancakes.”
Jade cracked. A laugh spilled out of her, bright and sudden.
And Leah—
Leah laughed too.
Not just a breath or a smile.
A real, full laugh that made her shoulders shake.
And for a second, she forgot how heavy the world had been.
She forgot how quiet she’d become.
How numb last week had felt.
How close she came to disappearing.
And all because Jade was sitting barefoot in her kitchen, making fun of a pancake that looked like a tragic heart.
Later, they sat on the floor with plates in their laps, syrup dripping onto mismatched napkins.
“Did you know,” Jade said between bites, “that pancakes are technically love letters?”
Leah raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Jade nodded. “Think about it. You only make pancakes for people you love. Or people you’re trying to love. Or people who make you feel like maybe, someday, you could.”
Leah went quiet.
Then looked down at her plate.
Then back at Jade.
“...You’re really weird,” she said softly.
Jade smiled. “I know.”
And Leah smiled back—gentle, tired, but real.
That morning, they didn’t fall in love.
But maybe—just maybe—
they started to realize
they already were.
It sneaks in through flour on your nose,
a lopsided pancake,
and someone who finally makes you forget
why you were sad in the first place.")
Leah didn’t plan to make pancakes.
She wasn’t really hungry. But after waking up to a text from Jade—
> “Still here. Still want pancakes.”
—something in her cracked into a smile.
So she found herself in her kitchen at 8:42 a.m., sleeves rolled, batter in a bowl, and the smallest hint of sunlight warming the counter.
Jade arrived in mismatched socks and a sleepy grin.
“Morning,” she said, stepping inside like she’d been doing it forever.
Leah raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I don’t actually know how to make pancakes properly, right?”
Jade grabbed a banana from the counter and shrugged. “Good. That means they’ll be terrible. I like terrible pancakes. They have character.”
Leah rolled her eyes—but she was already smiling.
The first pancake flipped too early and landed half-raw on one side.
The second was too thick.
The third… somehow folded itself?
“I’m starting to think these aren’t pancakes,” Jade said, watching the latest blob steam on the pan.
Leah tried not to laugh. “They’re… interpretive pancakes.”
Jade cracked. A laugh spilled out of her, bright and sudden.
And Leah—
Leah laughed too.
Not just a breath or a smile.
A real, full laugh that made her shoulders shake.
And for a second, she forgot how heavy the world had been.
She forgot how quiet she’d become.
How numb last week had felt.
How close she came to disappearing.
And all because Jade was sitting barefoot in her kitchen, making fun of a pancake that looked like a tragic heart.
Later, they sat on the floor with plates in their laps, syrup dripping onto mismatched napkins.
“Did you know,” Jade said between bites, “that pancakes are technically love letters?”
Leah raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Jade nodded. “Think about it. You only make pancakes for people you love. Or people you’re trying to love. Or people who make you feel like maybe, someday, you could.”
Leah went quiet.
Then looked down at her plate.
Then back at Jade.
“...You’re really weird,” she said softly.
Jade smiled. “I know.”
And Leah smiled back—gentle, tired, but real.
That morning, they didn’t fall in love.
But maybe—just maybe—
they started to realize
they already were.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 29. Continue reading Chapter 30 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.