Chef Charlotte

She wasn't sure what prompted her to wake up. It hadn't been a dream and she hadn't heard a noise. There was no danger, she was in the new safe house. If anything proved that there was no need to panic, it was the sight of Ellie Sutton's face scrunched up against her pillow, even though she had a perfectly fine one behind her, a river of drool coming out of her mouth. Her arms were thrown up over her head and one knee was literally propped up against the wall. Not the tiniest care in the world. They were safe. It was over.

How did she sleep like that though? How was she so undeniably sound asleep to the point of snoring in a position like that? I rolled over, careful to avoid the drool and had to stifle a laugh. Alice Anderson was currently half off of the other bed in the room. Her legs on the bed, her arms and part of her torso dangling off of it.

Morgan, I noticed, was not in the bed with her.

I carefully climbed out of the bed and checked my watch. Joe would be getting up soon for his first batch of coffee anyways.

I made my way down the hall but stalled at the noises coming from the kitchen. The fridge opening, something twisting off, something dropping, a splash, and a soft, "Shit."

I rounded the corner to see Maggie leaning her crutches against the counter and trying to bend down with a roll of paper towels towards an orange juice carton spilling over the tile.

I ran towards it, picking the now half empty carton up, and grabbed the towels, "I got it."

Maggie let out a deep sigh, "Thanks."

I chucked the towels in the garbage and looked over at her as she sat at the counter, her chin in her hands. She was wearing her prosthetic, shorts, and a sweatshirt. Her curls were matted to her slightly sweaty forehead.

"Were you working out by yourself?" I opened the cabinet and grabbed down the brown, unlabeled bag of coffee.

I saw her reflection in the coffee pot, her jaw on the right side clench, "I was just doing floor stuff. Sit ups."

I fiddled with the lid of the bag and wanted to call her on it, but then I saw the look in her eyes. Her face when the orange juice was on the floor. So I stayed quiet and didn't smirk at the look of surprise on her face when she realized she wouldn't be getting a lecture.

I turned to look in the fridge and she asked quietly, "Can you hand me Scout's orange juice?"

I pulled it out, with some eggs and milk as well, noticing the basket of blueberries in the fridge. I watched her pull a sharpie out of a drawer, her dropped carton in her hands. She crossed out the MAGS, and wrote SCOUT, then did the opposite on the new carton. She smirked just like her dad as she took a sip out of the new carton.

I shook my head and placed the old carton back in the fridge, but didn't say anything and continued to find ingredients in this new kitchen. I pulled out a large bowl and felt her eyes study me as she asked, "What are you making?"

"Blueberry muffins," I looked up, "Want to help?"

She laughed a little, and I could feel her apprehension about cooking coming off of her as she muttered, "I don't know. I've never attempted cooking, let alone baking. My grandma and mom have enough expertise in that department I think."

I laughed a little and she grinned. I glanced at the clock and started the coffee and I felt her eyes on the back of my neck, watching intently, "Have you made coffee before?"

She shook her head, "Nah, grandpa is always the one up first and he makes it perfect, so nobody else has ever tried."

Well, I didn't know if perfect was even the right word for it. Joe Solomon made a mean cup of coffee that's for sure, and probably didn't trust any of them to make it for him. Especially not with all of their track records in the kitchen. But there had been many early morning coffee pots shared between the two of them. The morning he taught me how to make it, was still as vivid and fresh in my mind as if it had happened yesterday. I couldn't help but feel a little proud, a little special. Maybe Joe had trusted me with his most prized secret.