AllFreeNovel
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He grunts at that.
We finish up, and make our way outside. It’s hot today—pushing what feels like eighty—and it’s only ten in the morning. I overheard someone say something about a heatwave coming through today and tomorrow.
The sun is bright and glaring, making it so I have to squint until my eyes adjust. We hit the path leading to the bungalows, bypassing a couple others walking by.
“So what are you gonna do?” Nolan asks. “That scares you, I mean.”
I shrug, adjusting my hold on my stack of containers. Unlike Nolan, I skipped a tray. “I don’t know yet. I’m kind of limited here. I mean, sure I can call my mother and yell at her, but what is she gonna do to me from thousands of miles away?”
“Still gives you anxiety, though, right?” he says knowingly.
I blow out a breath and nod. “Yeah.”
“But…”
God, he reads me too well.
We reach the narrow path to his bungalow, the trees giving us some much-needed shade.
I turn my head, peering up at him. “I think the objective right now is small, achievable goals. Like the kind you get instant gratification from, so you can make new connections in your brain, or whatever.” Facing forward, I pause, to let Nolan walk ahead so he can go in first. “At least, that’s the gist of what Dr. Maddock said. And as much of a rush that would be to call Mother and really let her have it, and wash my hands of it…”
He nods. “She’s not here, so you’d just have to deal with her wrath when you go home. Making it more of a long-term goal.”
“Exactly,” I whisper.
Inside, we set our food on the table. Nolan grabs the cutlery and starts making coffees for us in the Keurig. “Well, one, fuck that despicable woman.”
I cough out a laugh.
“And second,” he says, dragging out the word. He looks over his shoulder, long brown hair swinging with the movement. “I think I can help with this assignment.”
“Oh really?” I say, rolling in a smile.
“Uh huh.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Turning toward me while the coffee percolates, he rests against the counter and crosses his arms. Jerking his chin toward the table, he says, “First, eat something.”
I roll my eyes and go to sit down and do just that, knowing he won’t budge on this. We learned real quick that if we don’t eat before we get to the fun stuff, our food won’t only go cold, but will be abandoned entirely until evening, when our stomachs prove too loud to ignore.
“There, happy?” I mumble around a spoonful of egg.
He brings my coffee over and the creamer from his mini fridge. Shaking his head, he drags the container away from me, switching it out with one of mine. “Eat your own food, brat.”
I smirk, chewing.
“And swallow before you talk,” he grumbles.
I make a show of gulping and lower my chin, batting my eyes up at him. “Yes, Daddy.”
He glares at me, slashing his fork through the air. “Absolutely not. Red. Hard. Safe word. Potato. Whatever. No.”
I snort.“Potato?”
“Shut up and eat your fruit,” he grumbles, sticking a mountain sized spoonful of eggs in his mouth.
Rolling my eyes, I reach for the bowl of strawberries and bring it to my mouth, nibbling the tip. I make a face, my mouth watering and tingling in that way it does when something’s too sour or sweet or cold or both.
