Adapt (I)
Chapter Fourteen

TJR Garcia © 2020

SCARLET

Boe wakes me at precisely five-thirty, cooking me an everything-omelette. It is good, but it has a distinct lack of cheese. We eat in silence. In fact, everything Boe does this morning is standoffish. After my little episode yesterday afternoon, I can’t blame him. I am a little surprised that he came back at all. I have to give the boy points for persistence.

So, by exactly six AM we are jogging our way over to Herald Cove, Phoenix padding beside me, pressed hard against my leg. The three-kilometre ‘warm up’ is not unlike breakfast. Our entire morning conversation consists of five words words-‘hello’, ‘ready?’ and ‘hundred-meter sprint’.

Boe jogs with unwavering technique. Head high, chest out and each of his steps fall with purpose and commitment. I, on the other hand, just want to surge forward. I didn’t mind running, but only when I can release the power in my muscles. However, every time I ready myself to sprint away, Boe grabs my shoulder to pulls me back. I don’t like it, but I don’t question it.

I get to use that energy in our hundred-meter sprints. In the rain drenched sand, we do sets of drills: one hundred push ups-sprint-one hundred crunches-sprint-one hundred mountain climbers-sprint-repeat. Phoenix sat patiently, curious about my odd behaviour. We only stop for the muesli bar that has too many berries and not enough chocolate. My muscles ache by the end, but I can’t help my smug half grin after running rings around Boe in the sprints.

Luckily, we are allowed to sit down for lunch. We jog back to my house where I proceed to drag out a slice of flat bread, piling it high with tomato sauce and as much grated cheese I can find. I know that Boe won’t approve, but I have been dreaming of it since forcing down the muesli bar.

“Sorry, greasy pizza is not on the menu.” Boe swipes my pile of melted cheese from in front me, just as I sit to eat it.

“Hey! I am pretty sure I deserve that!” I leap up from my seat to save my precious pizza.

With a stony face, he slides the cheese into the trash bin.

“What the hell?!” I cry out.

Boe turns to me and runs his hand through his hair. “Scarlet, I would appreciate it if you could just try, for at least a day, to cooperate.”

I grind my teeth, staring at the pizza in the bin. “Fine. As long as you were planning on making pizza for lunch.”

Boe hangs his head, exhausted with my attitude. “I was, actually.”

“Oh.” My cheeks flushing hot, embarrassed at my juvenile behaviour. After a long moment of Boe standing in despair, and me red as a tomato, I decide to go to the fridge and attempt to help.

So, we make pizza. Actually, we make a pretty damn good pizza. Boe seems to have knack for combining flavours that work well together. It seems strange to crack an egg on to a pizza, but after baking it I realize that it adds another level to the plate. I remain tight-lipped throughout the process, letting Boe direct me and begrudgingly withholding my doubts.

We sit at the solid wood table, eating in silence. By the time the food touches my lips I am ravenous. Turns out, missing dinner can lead to chronic hunger the next day. When I finish, and my plate is licked clean, I peer across the table. “That was pretty good.” I admit as quickly and as quietly as I can, as if it is physically painful to say.

Boe glances up, his mouth full of pizza base and baby spinach. “I’m sorry, what?” he mumbles around the food.

I roll my eyes. “I said, your cooking isn’t half bad.”

He stops chewing and drops his fork. “Wait, did you just admit that I am good at something?” Still food in his mouth.

I sigh. “If you’re going to be a dick about it, I won’t compliment you anymore.”

“So that was, in fact, a compliment?”

“Yes.” I grind.

He leans back in his chair and finally swallows. “To what do I owe this high honour?”

There, in the corners of his mouth, is a twitch. I realize that he is playing me.

Two can play at that game.

I mirror his posture. “Your basic domestic skills.”

His lips part a little, disarmed.

I shrug. “I’ll be the first to admit that as far as kitchen skills... lets just say that the estrogen didn’t take hold. But obviously it has done its job on you.”

Boe looks from me to his plate, and back again.

I slide back my chair and stand. “When you’re finished in the kitchen, do you mind running the vacuum through this place?” I pick up my plate and sit it on the sink.

“Is everything you say to me going to be an insult?”

I turn back, ready to hit him with another quip. When I see his stern expression, I waver. This isn’t what I want. Yes, I want him out of Green Haven, but I didn’t want to insult him. After all, he is just like me - a hunter. In a matter of days, I have managed to turn this arrangement into a pissing contest. All I want is to give him a reason to leave, and pick up some new techniques along the way. A month of half tasty health food is a reasonable price to pay for that. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I lean back on the kitchen bench top. “You know what, no. I’m sorry. Something in you just brings out the competitiveness in me.”

He shakes his head in disgust, but then his face turns to surprise, as if what I just said was totally unexpected. “Wait, you’re apologizing?”

I close my eyes, steadying myself. “You really need a lot of confirmation, don’t you?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

His brows rise.

I throw my arms in the air. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

Boe holds my gaze for a second. His eyes convey something I can’t quite understand. A sort of mutual understanding? Like he understands that I am going to make an effort to control my tongue, and in return he will dismiss my slip ups? Maybe I am just seeing what I want to see.

He looks down at the map stuck to the table and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Okay. Well, there are no Therians in the area yet. So, you may as well help me with something that I am more than willing to admit I am useless at.”

I narrow my eyes and bite back the insult that was rolling off my tongue.

“I don’t own many clothes.” He continues. I put my hands on my hips, wondering where he is going with this.

“Want to come shopping with me?”

I am shocked for about a tenth of a second... right before I double over laughing.

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