Reclaiming My Broken Luna (Astrid and Killian) novel Chapter 308

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.”

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 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 I forced myself to take a steadying breath. I 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.