“Ok…” I trail off, not really knowing what else to say.
“Do I have a curfew or anything?” I ask. I’m not really sure how to navigate this.
“Jesus, kid. No, you don’t; you’re an adult. Just lock up if you go out, whether it’s at night or during the day.”
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 wordkid.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 asGood 4 Uby 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 astairway 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.
