golden [kaylor]

( four. )

Not going to lie to you guys, I'm winging it hardcore with this fic. This is a short chapter, but I've been planning the next one or two and they're definitely going to be longer. I love you all, and thanks for reading!

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Two days pass and you're starting to fall back into the monotony of living.  Seeing Karlie was an amazing coincidence, but you know better than to hope you'll see her again.  You know her schedule, and how photoshoots often put her in a place for a few hours before she's jetting off to the next one.  So you devote your time to trying new recipes, but none of them come out the way you want.

You're starting to wonder if you're going crazy, because your mind won't stop drifting to her.  You've burnt five trays of cookies because you've been so busy scrolling through old pictures of you and Karlie that you haven't heard it beep to signal them being done.

You've given two customers the wrong order because you've been so distracted.  It's killing you.  And you've started to debate going to a payphone, dialing her number that you still remember and just explaining everything.  You won't be able to see her, but at least she'll know you miss her as much as she misses you.

But trusting Karlie with that knowledge is like placing a bomb in her hands and hoping she'll be able to disarm it before the timer hits zero.  The drug lord who you're hiding from goes by Spade, you know that much.  His cartel is small but ruthless and effective, and you're stuck in hiding until every one of them is eliminated.  The last you've heard, there are about six of them left, but they're the most powerful members, and the best at hiding.

And the best at torture as a form of interrogation.  If they happen to target Karlie, and you tell her the truth, you know they'll do horrible things to her.  And then they'll kill her.  And Karlie's blood wouldn't just be on your hands.  It would cover your whole body, like one of the apparitions in Macbeth.  

You sigh, pressing the heels of your palms to your burning eyes. There's nothing in the oven, so you allow yourself a few moments of collapse before you need to pull yourself back together.

"Eva?"

The voice startles you out of your thoughts.  You jump, and your knee slams into the counter.  A few curses fall from your mouth, and you hop awkwardly on one foot as you look at the owner of the voice.  

And there she is, the one haunting your thoughts like a poltergeist.  Karlie Elizabeth Kloss.  Staring at you with both amusement and concern.  You clutch at your knee gracelessly, and she bites her lip, obviously trying not to laugh, "Did I scare you?"

"Nope, not at all," You shoot back, trying to act chill but realizing you're about as warm as the sun.  This time, she actually does laugh, and even though she doesn't know it's you, you're glad that you've brought out that sound.  It takes all of your strength to maintain your air of annoyance and not beam at her.  Or, alternately, cry and tell her absolutely everything.

Suddenly your colored contacts burn your eyes, and your freckles feel heavy on your face.  Suddenly the cat tattoo on your hand is a growling tiger, and you're trapped in a body that's fighting you.  Nothing feels right, because this is (was?) your girl and you can't even whisper I'm still yours without risking her life.

"I think you're lying to me," Karlie teases.  She's still sunshine.  Absolue sunshine.  A glowing star in the inky darkness you've been floating in for months now.  You shrug lightly, too proud to admit that she had definitely scared the shit out of you.

Instead, you're more curious why exactly she's here.  You tilt your head the the side, pressing your lips into a smirk, "So were my cookies so good you had to come back for more?"

"Something like that," Karlie returns, but you notice she doesn't even really look at the cookies.  Instead she approaches the counter, leaning her elbows on it like she's comfortable, like she's at a friend's house.  You miss that familiarity, and it startles you that she's showing it now.  But then again, it makes sense, in a way.  You look like the Taylor Swift she thinks is dead.  Your face is familiar.  But somehow it stings that she's leaning forward and smiling at you like this when she doesn't actually know who you are.

But you don't show it.  Instead you allow your eyebrows to lift, "What do you mean?"

"I'm more interested in you," Karlie says, and the sunshine smile goes a little crooked.  She's nervous, and you know that while she's an instigator, she's not usually one for moves this bold.  Your startled expression is not at all fake.

"In me?" You ask, and your heart hammers against your ribs like it's trying to escape confinement and settle in her chest instead.  You press your hands against the counter, using them to steady yourself.

Karlie gives a noncommittal shrug, "I just thought I might want to take you out to dinner while I'm here."

"You, Karlie Kloss, are asking me out.  Is it because I look like Taylor Swift?" You hope you sound like a convincing fangirl and not someone who has been on several dates with Karlie  Kloss.  The question you pose is half awkward and half teasing, and you hope it covers up the honesty in it.

Karlie laughs, and her hand touches yours.  You feel fireworks explode inside of you and around you, sparking in your throat, "Maybe a little bit."

You can't tell if she's teasing or not.  But you know this is a horrible idea.  You know you should turn her down.  But you miss her like hell.  And what else can you do?  What other opportunity will you have?  She thinks you're someone else but at least you'll be able to spend a couple of hours with her talking over steaks and wine.  You want to cry, because there's so much that could go wrong.  But you're weak.  You're a weak, pathetic little girl.

"Alright, Karlie Kloss.  Where are we going?"