Reclaiming My Broken Luna by Selene Souchon

Chapter 308: Pancakes Astrid's POV

The next day, I woke up early, determined to make the most of the time I had with Ryker.

If I couldn't tell him the truth yet, I'd focus on slowly building our relationship, step by careful step. Patience would be key, and I was willing to take it slow, to earn his trust.

I figured I'd start with breakfast - something simple but thoughtful, something he might enjoy.

It felt like a small gesture, but I hoped it could be the first step towards bridging the gap between us.

And as I stood in the kitchen, it hit me - this would be the first time I'd ever cooked breakfast for my son.

I wanted it to be special, something that showed how much I cared. But as I scanned the kitchen, my

mind raced with uncertainty. Pancakes? Eggs? Maybe toast with fruit on the side?

Every option seemed too simple, too ordinary for a moment that felt so significant.

I caught myself overthinking every little detail. What if he didn't like it? What if I got it wrong? I wanted so badly for him to enjoy it, to see that I was trying.

I started pacing, debating with myself on what would be the perfect meal.

Just then, the sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. I turned to see Beta Ryder entering the kitchen, looking surprised to find me there so early.

He was only wearing a loose shirt and jeans, his hair still a little messy from sleep as he made his way over to the counter to grab a drink.

"Astrid, I didn't expect to see you up this early," he said, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

feeling

make breakfast for Ryker." I hesitated for a moment before admitting, "I wanted

softened, and he nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you're in luck. Ryker loves pancakes. But not just

perked up, grateful for the information. "Particular?

always has a bowl of fruit with it. But," Ryder added, "the fruit has to be just right-not

and anxiety. At least now I knew what he liked,

voice sincere. "I appreciate

problem. And don't worry you've got this." With that, he gave me an encouraging

a moment, taking a

felt a surge of determination as I stood in the kitchen. If making breakfast exactly how he liked it could help him feel comfortable around me, then I was

carefully pouring the batter into the pan, watching as the bubbles formed and the edges started to

scene of flour dusted across the counter, mixing bowls stacked high, and

pancakes piled up from countless trial and error -

were cooked alright, but none of them had the perfect crispy

bubbled up

at different times, adjusting the heat, and pouring different amounts

got

just the way I wanted, and the center was light and airy. I set it aside with a sigh

across the counter,

fingers, and carefully selected

longer than I

becoming crowded

half-filled bowls as I tried