Novel Storm
Chapter 18: 18
Chapter 18: 18
He watches me for a few seconds before reaching out and catches my hand across the table, interlacing my fingers in his in a gesture that makes me instantly forget how much of an ass he’s been all morning.
“I’m glad you came home with me, glad that we talked and had ‘us’ time.” Smiling at me honestly, no cool guard up and I melt back at him, all moods fluttering away in the light of that smile.
“Me too.” I pull my hand away as I see ‘Madame of the kitchen’ coming our way with plates and a dish towel slung over one arm. Even though I know there’s nothing in it, it makes me uncomfortable, her seeing when he’s being warmly affectionate. She smiles brightly, completely pleased with herself no doubt, for her culinary masterpiece, as she slides two plates of pancakes in front of us.
Or should I say two plates of weird looking ‘splat’ cakes swimming in a white fluid of some sort that has coated lumpy bits of I don’t know, under its surface. I blink at it in confusion, mouth snapping shut as she kisses Arrick on the cheek sweetly and stands back to admire her offerings with pride. I have to curb the urge to screw my face up and point at it dramatically, a sense of disappointment coming over me in an outraged wave.
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“You two eat, I’m going to clean myself up in your bathroom. I made a mess of my clothes.” She smiles affectionately, pointing at a tiny little dot of batter on her floaty dress and shakes her head. She leans down and lays the towel over my lap for me, as though I’m a child who clearly leaves a mess, and then moves off towards his room while untying the apron I only now realize she’s wearing.
Who the hell brings and wears an apron to cook? And yet still gets food on her dress!
“What the fuck is this?” I lift up the weird looking flat and obviously anemic attempt at a pancake with my fork as soon as she is out of earshot, alarmed to hear it fall back off with an actual thud. I lift the
plate to check it hasn’t cracked through and drop it back down in complete disapproval.
“Shhhhh, she’ll hear you. It’s a pancake … clearly.” Arrick stifles a laugh, goes to dig into his flat white offering, drowning in what I think is yogurt and maybe some kind of fruit cocktail massacre.
He tries not to look at me.
“Where is the real food, and syrup? Where’s the bacon?” I widen my eyes at him in sheer dismay. Starving yet unable to offend my mouth what whatever the hell this is. My stomach is doing the rhumba, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to infect my constitution with some organic, wholesome, probably gluten-free bull crap that looks like fried eggs minus the yolk.
“Shhhhh. Lower your voice. She takes my diet seriously; she’s just being a good girlfriend and doing her best. You’re going to hurt her feelings.” Arrick frowns at me, but those dimples on display are a clear sign he’s trying not to laugh. He obviously knows his woman’s cooking sucks.
“I am pretty sure that pancakes, real ones anyway, have flour, and maybe color to them.” I point out with a serious expression; sheer disbelief on my face that she actually thinks this stuff is edible. I hate to think what he actually eats when she’s here. Maybe that’s why he indulges me in takeout a lot, so he can get a decent meal when she’s overtaking his kitchen and pretending, she’s some sort of Martha Stewart.
“You would know that how? You have never cooked anything edible in your life. Do you remember how many times my mom tried to teach you? Do you remember the brownies you made, Sophs?” Arrick chews pauses and swallows without trying to look alarmed or react in any way. A serious look in those pretty eyes and I smirk at the recollection of probably the worst brownies ever to come out of an oven, like ever.
“You didn’t look like that when you ate my brownies. Did that hurt going down?” I lift my eyebrows at him and this time he chuckles involuntarily and then glances around in alarm in case she heard him. He
frowns back at me with a warning look to stop, but I’m only just warming up.
“Shut up and eat. We have a long drive, and she didn’t need to come over and cook breakfast for us. She’s just being a sweetheart, like always.” He scolds me gently, pushing my foot under the table to try and tell me off quietly.
“I wish she hadn’t, you would have taken me for something I might actually like, or just cooked them for me instead. Your pancakes reign supreme, especially next to these. I want real food.” I frown and make a stab at spearing fruit, something I recognize as edible anyway. Possibly a blueberry, but it’s so coated in thick white gunk that I can’t tell.
Please, God, I think this may be like organic plain yogurt, and not even the nice flavored stuff that doesn’t taste like bitter, year old milk. I think she may be trying to poison us.
“Pretty sure candy and sugar-coated cereals are not real foods.” He takes another mouthful and this time avoids looking my way at all, seriously struggling not to smile, his dimples are making a permanent appearance this morning. His good mood is still floating around and try as he might to be a loyal boyfriend, I can totally see he agrees that these are worse than bad.
“More real than … what are these made of? The paper bag the flour normally comes in?’ I throw my fork down and push the plate away huffily, losing interest in spearing stuff I cannot identify.
“Flour free, banana and oat pancakes, high protein and good for you. Something you are obviously allergic to.” Arrick glances over his shoulder at a noise and turns back.
“She’s coming back. Eat, or I will force-feed you when she’s not looking.” He warns, meeting my sarcastic ‘you so will not’ glare thrown back at him. He pushes my plate back at me as she saunters back into view. All traces of spilled mess on her dress gone and walks around in a haze of freshly
powdered face and newly reapplied perfume spritz. Arrick raises his brows at me, that’s supposed to get me to do as I am told, and I sigh as I pick up my fork.
She wanders back to the kitchen, smiling my way behind his back, and seems to be intent on making like a good housewife and washing the dishes she used. I cut a piece of the offending pancake and force myself to take a bite. I catch Arrick watching me and can’t resist the dramatic silent choking gesture I make when I put it in my mouth and one hand to my throat. All I can taste is dry, bland, and cushiony yuck.
He kicks my foot a bit harder, which makes me yelp and spit what’s left of my half-chewed pancake out onto the table between us, hitting a real coughing fit while slapping his hand in anger. He throws his napkin over it to conceal it from her.
“Oh, my God, Sophie, are you okay?” Natasha squawks my way as I really do start taking a choking fit on nothing but air. Arrick hits the absolute giggles and sits his arm on the table so he can cover his face and stifle the urge to laugh my rubbing his face with a flat palm. “I’ll get you a glass of water.” Natasha starts fumbling with the cupboards, clinking glasses, and I death glare him, blaming him for this.