Chapter 21
COOPER
There’s no way I’m getting Amara to talk to me tonight. But I can get her to interact with me.
Which is why I stole her cat.
Can I really steal something that comes willingly? Maybe.
But okay, I didn’t actually steal her cat, and it started out completely genuine.
I had ordered groceries for delivery. Considering I’m heading into training camp shortly, there’s only so many times I can have takeout.
And while most of the groceries were ingredients and different types of protein, there were two ingredients in particular that were more important than all the rest.
Peanut butter and fluff.
The new plan is simple.
I grabbed a pen and paper and jotted down the order of tasks.
But first, I took an allergy pill. Because the one thing that will ruin a good time? Sneezes. Snot all over.
I got to work.
Task 1: Make the fluffernutter sandwiches.
Task 2: Take them both to my room.
Task 3: Somehow get the incarnation of said sandwich into my room.
Task 4: Give said incarnation treats. If I am worthy, I will get the rabid turkey sounds.
Task 5: Wait for Amara to come looking for her rabid, fluffy white turkey.
Task 6: Hand her the sandwich and cat. If and only if she smiles, try to talk to her.
I’ve made a lot of lists in my life, one of which even got my best friend his dream girl. But this one was art.
The execution was part of the issue. I know that she loves marshmallow fluff, but how much is too much? What is the perfect peanut butter to fluff ratio?
I decided to go with the theory that the more fluff, the better. So I piled it on before the chunky peanut butter—the only way she’ll eat it—and placed it on the small plate.
I took a deep breath. First order of business was done.
I figured that wrangling the cat was going to be the biggest challenge, so before I tackled that, I tiptoed past Amara’s room and into mine, where I dropped the sandwiches on my bedside table.
And then, for the difficult part.
I headed back into the kitchen, where I grabbed the cat treats. Quietly opening the bag, I shook them once to get his attention.
I was met with the round eyes of an owl.
Okay, my original plan to lead him into my room wasn’t going to work. I was hoping that he would work with me, somehow reading my mind that he had to be quiet about this before I got him into my room.
Clearly, that was not going to happen. So instead, I snatched him.
Treats in hand, I scooped the mammal up in my hands, running into my room before he could scream.
Honestly, he didn’t seem to mind.
And now we’re here. With Fluffernutter on the ground, looking up at me with confusion in those weird little eyes.
“Okay, you need to help me now,” I whisper, cracking open the bag.
He sits.
I drop a treat.
He doesn’t do shit.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
I drop another. He looks at it, and then back at me.
I drop three more, and nothing.
I groan. “I just need a turkey noise. Please.”
After dropping two more, I’ve had enough.
I pour out the whole bag.
Thankfully, that does it.
The small man loses his shit, immediately going full turkey with what can only be described as a level of gluttony the bible speaks of.
My heart pounding, I jump into my bed, and am just taking a bite of sandwich when Amara flings the door open.
“What the hell?” she asks, watching her cat inhale small treats. Her eyes slowly pan up to me.
“He was,” I pause, realising I never actually thought of what I was going to tell her after I executed my perfectly thought-out plan. “He just wanted some treats.”
Amara’s hand is on her hip, and I know I’m in trouble. “Oh, he told you that, did he?”
“I mean, yeah?” I look at the second sandwich. “Fluffernutter sando?” I ask, handing it to her.
Three seconds pass, my heart beating in my ass, before her eyes soften “How much fluff did you put on that thing?” she asks, walking over to me.
“Half the container.”
She takes it quietly, sitting on the edge of my bed.
If you had told me just a few days ago that I would have Amara in my bed again, I would have told you that you were on one. I’d have you tested. I’d probably say that there’s no reason to be a complete asshole.
But here she is, in her Pajamas, hanging out in my bedroom.
But when she takes a bite, her pillowy lips curving around the giant mound of fluff, my heart stops, and I must be dying.
At the sound of the moan that comes after, I swear I nearly come right then and there.
Amara’s eyes meet mine, and the crease between her brows deepens. “Can you close your mouth? Freak.”
I do.
“Like it?” Please say yes.
“It’s chunky peanut butter and fluff. Of course, I like it.”
It feels kind of like a bucket of lava is dropped on me.
“Good,” I mutter, taking another bite of mine.
She looks around, her gaze settling on her cat as he cleans his paws. “Did you really do all of this so that I’d come in here?”
“Yes,” I say without thinking.
And she smiles.
At least, she smiles for a few seconds before it drops. She looks down at the plate in her lap, her long hair falling in front of her face like a shield.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
It’s like whiplash.
“What are you sorry for?”
She shrugs, the sleeve of her shirt falling off her shoulder. “I don’t know. I was hurt. I had some memories come back. I don’t like you, but I also don’t think that you deserve for me to get angry without explanation.”
There’s a dig there, I can feel it.
“I’m sorry too,” I tell her softly.
“It just felt like your family didn’t want me anymore, you know.” She sniffles. “It just felt like you didn’t want me to be a part of his day. Like I was erased.”
I shake my head, a deep sadness settling quickly into my bones. “That’s not true. You know that, right? Amara, that’s not true at all.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me he wasn’t doing well? Or that he passed?”
“I—” I don’t know how to answer that. My shoulders slump, and we settle into a palliative silence.
Rejuvenating.
“I had a lot of regrets around that time,” I say finally. Her deep, golden-brown eyes meet mine, warming me up. “I had a lot of guilt. A lot. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I hurt you. I think I hurt a lot of people,” a dark chuckle escapes my lips, “even if they won’t admit it.”
Amara studies me for a few minutes, her eyes scanning every inch of me. I feel it in my cells.
“One day, will you tell me everything?”
I nod shallowly.
Getting up, Amara picks her plate up from the bed, her half-eaten sandwich still on it. “Thank you for this,” she says softly. “Next time you want to talk to me, just knock on the door, alright?”
I nod, and she turns on her heels and returns to her room, Fluffernutter hot on her heels.