Chapter 3 Sloane #2
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and then down his face. It’s the most emotion I’ve seen from him since I got here. I flinch at the use of the word kid. It feels like he’s contradicting himself, calling me an adult but referring to me as a kid.
I grind my teeth together, wiping my palms on my shorts. I let out a breath before I stand.
“Do you have the same day off every week, or does it rotate?” I ask.
“Sundays,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Ok, do those days have any sched—” I don’t finish my thought when he glares at me.
Alright, point taken. I’m talking too much.
“I’m going to go to the store for dinner. Is there anything you don’t like?” I ask, heading towards the door.
“No, whatever is fine,” he says.
I nod stiffly, grab my keys off the hook next to the door, and head outside.
When I’m standing next to my car, I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I’ve been holding in.
I lean my forehead against the door and gently bring it back before letting it fall, doing this several more times.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I used to not talk at all, and now I don’t know how to shut up.
“Ugggh…” I groan softly, pulling away from the door as I open it and get inside.
The wheel on my grocery cart squeaks as I walk down the aisle, grabbing things and putting them into the cart. I don’t grab much, just what I need for dinner, and anything I might need for tomorrow. I’ll make a proper list once I decide how long I’m going to stay.
I get back to the house and unpack all the bags of groceries. Beckett isn’t in the living room or kitchen, so he’s either out back or in his office. My guess is the latter.
I leave out the things on the counter that I need to make fajitas for dinner. Beckett seems like a red meat kind of dude, so I got steak as well as chicken and shrimp.
Plus, if I cook it all now, I can just add it to my little meal prep containers and not have to worry about cooking it later.
While out shopping, I didn’t account for Beckett literally owning only three items to cook on the stove with. A tiny frying pan, a large frying pan, and a medium pot.
Men.
I make a mental note to pick up some new pots and pans next time I go to the store. But for tonight, it will have to work.
While the meat is cooking, I dice the peppers and onions and prep the Greek yogurt sauce, before grating some cheese.
I bob my head and sing softly as Good 4 U by Olivia Rodrigo plays softly from my phone.
As everything cooks, I let myself get familiar with what’s in the kitchen, making a list of things that I can grab tomorrow to make it seem more like a kitchen and less like a space that is hardly used.
The house is exactly as I remember from whenever I was last here. The kitchen and the front room are one big space, with a small hallway running off on each side leading to separate parts of the house.
One hallway leads to the laundry room and to Beckett’s office; on the opposite side, it leads to Mason’s old room and a stairway to the basement. Walking through the front door, you can either enter the living room or head straight upstairs.
The house doesn’t really smell like anything in particular, well, other than what’s on the stove. I jot down to pick up some candles or outlet air fresheners.
Once everything is done cooking, I make myself a plate and take a quick pic before making one for Beckett. I place one of each fajita on his plate, and pray that he’s in his office.
I walk down the hall and knock softly.
“It’s open,” I hear him say. I open the door and let myself in.
“I made fajitas for dinner, there’s cheese, and Greek ranch sauce. They are all different: chicken, steak, and shrimp. There’s plenty in the kitchen if you want more,” I mumble, looking down at the food in my hands.
I try not to let my fingers tremble as I hold the plate, and I also don’t know why I can’t look at him. Maybe because I don’t want him to judge me. Or maybe I am waiting for some kind of rude comment that I know will never come.
“Thanks, it looks good,” he says, taking the plate from me. When he does, I look up to see him already looking at me.
I nod slowly.
He holds my gaze. It’s intense, like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. His eyes are striking, fierce but not mean. Briar only looks at me like I’m a stain on his tie, not with tenderness or care like Beckett is looking at me right now.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you’d like to join me,” I say, quickly turning and leaving. My cheeks heat realizing that I was staring at him for way too long. I close the door to his office behind me and walk back to the kitchen.
I grab the plate I made for myself and sit down on one of the barstools at the island. I pull my knee up to my chest as I use one hand to eat my food, and the other to scroll through my phone.
I didn’t post a lot today, but the video I posted yesterday is doing really well.
140k Likes - 3,083 Comments - 342 Favorites - 1473 New Followers
Any video where I get followers is a good video. A lot of times, I’ll get a video that performs well, but I don’t get any followers from it, and that’s ok. But it always makes my day when my follower count goes up.
To me, it means that they don’t just like my video; it means they like me.
I smile to myself as I scroll through my drafts, uploading a video I made earlier while I was unpacking my stuff.
My content usually performs better when I post at night, anyway.
I’m in the middle of making a photo carousel for Flykr when Beckett surprises me with his presence. His food is half eaten, and I frown.
“Is it not good?” I ask, setting my phone down and looking up to meet his eyes. My voice is a lot softer than I mean for it to be.
“The opposite,” he says, sitting down next to me and taking a bite of one of the fajitas.
I nod and turn back to my food. For the rest of dinner, neither of us says anything as we eat in silence. I smile to myself when he gets up to make himself a second plate.
After dinner, he excuses himself and goes back to his office.
I clean up, packing the food into containers for easy meal prep.
Before I put everything up, though, I grab a container and put a little bit of all the meats in it.
I then grab a packet of pre-made instant rice, a thing of smashed avocado, and some of the Greek ranch sauce I made. I put it all into a black lunch box and place it in the fridge, with a little note.
I then store everything else in the fridge, making sure the kitchen looks spotless before grabbing the rest of my stuff, heading upstairs to finish my Flykr post, and getting ready for bed.
Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad staying here. It would be like having an invisible roommate.
His presence is there, but he isn’t.
I can do this.