“You’re *still* using that old coffee maker?” Dana leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, as she watched Dean fumble with the machine. He glanced up, his dark hair slightly messy, and smirked.

“It works just fine,” he said, brushing a hand through his hair. Dana rolled her eyes, her long auburn waves catching the sunlight streaming through the window. She was wearing a loose sweater that slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing a delicate collarbone. Her lips curved into a playful smile as she tilted her head, clearly enjoying teasing him.

“Fine, but don’t blame me when it explodes,” she said, stepping closer to inspect the machine. Her perfume—something light and floral—drifted toward him. Dean hesitated, his hand hovering over the power button. “Wait,” she said suddenly, her tone shifting. “Did you even clean it after last time?”