Reclaiming My Broken Luna 2

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.

I offered a small smile, feeling a bit relieved to see him.

"Good morning, Ryder. I'm... just trying to make breakfast for Ryker." I hesitated for a moment before admitting, "I wanted to make something he likes, but I don't know what his favorite breakfast is."

Ryder's expression softened, and he nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you're in luck. Ryker loves pancakes. But not just any kind he's particular about them."

I perked up, grateful for the information. "Particular? How so?"

"He likes them crispy at the edges but fluffy in the middle. And he always has a bowl of fruit with it. But," Ryder added, "the fruit has to be just right-not too hard, not too soft. If it's not the way he likes it, he won't eat it."

I felt a mix of relief and anxiety. At least now I knew what he liked, but hearing the specifics made me realize just how much I needed to get it right.

"Thank you, Ryder," I said, my voice sincere. "I appreciate you telling me."noveldrama

He smiled, a reassuring look on his face. "No problem. And don't worry you've got this." With that, he gave me an encouraging nod before leaving the kitchen.

I stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath.

I 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 going to get it right.

I stood over the stove, carefully pouring the batter into the pan, watching as the bubbles formed and the edges started to brown.

The kitchen quickly became a mess - a chaotic scene of flour dusted across the counter, mixing bowls stacked high, and discarded utensils everywhere.

At the side, I had a mountain of pancakes piled up from countless trial and error - some burnt to a crisp, others undercooked and pale.

A few were cooked alright, but none of them had the perfect crispy edges and fluffy center that Ryder said Ryker liked.

Frustration bubbled up as I tried

again and again, flipping the pancakes at different times, adjusting the heat, and pouring different amounts of batter until,

finally, I got it right.

The edges crisped up just the way I wanted, and the center was light and airy. I set it aside with a sigh of relief, grateful I hadn't given up.

Next came the fruit. I had several bowls scattered across the counter, each filled with different kinds - some too firm, others too soft.

I tested each piece, feeling the texture beneath my fingers, and carefully selected only the ones that felt just right.

It took longer than I expected, the

counter becoming crowded with et

discarded fruits and half-filled bowls as I tried to find the perfect balance for Ryker.

When I finally had enough, I arranged them neatly in a small bowl, the colors vibrant and fresh, just as I hoped he would like.

By the time I was done, the kitchen was a wreck, and I felt the exhaustion creeping in.

But when I looked at the neatly plated pancakes and the perfectly handpicked fruit, I felt a small sense of accomplishment.

I glanced at the clock and realized how fortunate I was to have woken up so early — any later, and I wouldn't have finished in time.

It was a mess, but it was worth it. This breakfast was for my son, and I had done everything I could to make it special.

With everything ready, I carried the plate and bowl to the dining area. I spotted him at the table, already lost in his coloring.

My heart fluttered with nerves, but forced myself to take a steadying breath placed the plate and bowl in front of him, trying to keep my voice calm and light.

"Good morning, Ryker," I said softly. "I made breakfast for you just how you like it."

He glanced up at me, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before flicking back down to his drawing.

I felt a knot of anxiety form in my chest, my hands fidgeting as I waited for his reaction. Had I done enough? Did I get it right?

Ryker set his crayon down and reached for the plate. I watched with bated breath as he took a bite of the pancake.

Every muscle in my body tensed, waiting for a sign - any sign that I had gotten it wrong.

But when he continued eating, his expression neutral and untroubled, a wave of relief washed over me.

It was such a small victory, but it felt monumental — a tiny step forward.