Arranged: Bound By Contract (girlxintersex)

Chapter 9

Chapter 9
Stella POV


Kenny Grace, a YouTuber chef's voice rang out loudly in the kitchen. I have my raw chicken in a glass blow with about a million and one seasons surrounding it. My fingers were skipping through the cookbook that I had taken from the pantry.

It was thick and aged, with sauces staining across few pages. I'll say it belongs to her or another lady in her life. It may be her mother. I hadn't discovered the recipe for roasted chicken.

Kenny Grace makes it seem simple. Give it a two-hour marinating period after adding the seasoning. Dinner had to be done in the next two hours, therefore marinating was out of the question.

She didn't demonstrate much know-how, but I felt there had been more to Chicken than simply pulling it out of the package, seasoning it, and cooking it.

"Fried chicken. Stew chicken. But no roasted chicken?" I returned to the table of contents, only to discover that it had no information regarding baking, as stated clearly when I closed the book. The cook book was primarily intended for folks who did not know how to operate an oven.

I am so dumb.

I paused the 10 minutes long video, switched to portrait mode, and began scrolling through the several videos that were featured regarding roasted chicken. The bell sounded as I clicked on another one and let it play.

I let out a stressed grunt and slumped half my body against the counter.

I left the video running and went towards the door. When I peered through it, I saw a woman standing and holding a baking dish. She bounced around cheerfully, wearing a lovely smile. Her head would occasionally turn around. She then leaned ahead and merrily pressed the doorbell.

I didn't feel like interacting with anyone. Despite it being a charming young woman displaying a charming trinket. I'd guess it was some baked treat. Which I despise. I'd like a bag of potato chips and Red Bull.

However, I must accept that this is my current reality.

I was a fake wife living in the suburbs. So I have to think in suburban terms. Which is to be friends with the neighbors. Why couldn't I live in a mansion remote from civilization?

The bell rung again. Her cherry margarita voice rang out. I heard a loud door creak open upstairs and saw Mateo. She paused at the top of the steps. Her look lasted from a fair and struck me in the gut.

"Stella, answer the door or you don't know how to open a door?" She raised a rhetorical question. I rolled my eyes and turned to face the door.

I peeked through the hole, thinking the woman had vanished, but she was still there, cheerful as ever. I'd be irritated if I'd been reaching someone for a few seconds and they didn't respond.

She stepped back, clearly astonished that someone had finally arrived at the door. I fully opened it, bracing my body against the frame.

"Hi!" She made my ears virtually pop. Great.

"Hey,"

"I am your next-door neighbor." She indicated to the left of her, and I pushed myself out, having a lot over her identical house. "I found out today that you had moved in. Taylor informed everyone in the communal group chat."

"Communal group chat?" I inquired as I took in her magnificent porch and yard. She had a sitting hammock, but the chains were adorned with beautiful vine plants with brilliant yellow blooms.
She didn't fill her porch with flowers and plants as Taylor does. In general, her porch exuded 'hang out with a drink of lemonade with your boyfriend' feelings.

"You know, a little chat group that discusses everything and everything." The tension in her voice told me she was attempting to make things seem beautiful.

"They are talking crap about me, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are?" With the quickness of lightning, she responded to me.

My gaze shifted away from her yard, which was filled with nothing but affection for her. She had an anxious expression on her oblong face. She had an extremely small chin and jawline, which rested on her tiny, brilliant natural lips.

"What is your name?"

"Nathalie." She grinned broadly.

"I am Stella. I know I don't look like a Stella. Whatever. What did they say about me?"

"Not that horrible."

"Tell Taylor to push her cheap press-on nails up her ass."

She gasped as if I said the worse thing. She behave like a virgin. I was a virgin, and I acted nothing like her. "I can't tell her that." She seemed worried.

"Can you cook?" I inquired, my gaze drawn to the plate she was holding.

She gasped enthusiastically as she handed me the dish. When I retrieved it from her and opened the top, the aroma of cinnamon, apple, and other spices filled my nose.

"Smells good." I remarked as I slipped my finger into the apple pie. I placed a piece in my mouth. Her eyes expanded.

"You'll need a fork and ice cream to eat that. I prefer vanilla. However, any flavor of ice cream is acceptable, or none. But I—"

"Calm down. It tastes wonderful even without ice cream. I grab another piece of warm apple pie. "I am not a huge fan of sweet stuff."

"I've got a sweet craving."

"Undoubtedly, you do." I commented, admiring the bright pink sunflower dress she was wearing.

She lives as a child in an adult body. A bow in her curled spirally hair just over her shoulder line would have finished the look.

"You know, seeing you at my door made me want to leap off a cliff."

"No," she breathed quietly.

"I don't like you."

Her hand caressed her collapsed chest, and she had a sorrowful dolled expression. Oh my God, she was a kid at heart! "Why don't you like me?"

"I'm just kidding," I joked.

"Whew," her expression brightened with a childlike smile. Her hair bounce as she runs on her feet. I looked down and saw she was wearing ballet-like shoes. Oh, my God!

"Are you sixteen?"

She buried her giggles with the palm of her slender hand. Her shoulder squinted as she laughed even louder. Oh, my God. She's so adorable.

"I'm 23,"

"Married?"

"No,"

"Do you live in a house like that?"

"Did my papa buy it for me?"

"Are you Daddy?"

"My Papa. "My father."

"Oh, given that you prepared great baked goods. Do you know how to cook? Maybe baked chicken...and season it?"

"Yes, would you like me to go bake some for you?"

I grabbed her arms; she leaped while giggling. Her eyes squinted as she smiled.

"I want you to help me cook," I yanked her inside and slammed the door shut.

"Really? That's really cool?"

"There's nothing cool about cooking...Or not knowing how to cook."

"I love to cook."

"Please come every evening and cook for my wife."

Her eyes expanded. "You have a woman, not a husband." Fascinated, she inquired. "How is that like?"

"Normal,"

I was effortlessly bringing her into the kitchen. I had no remorse about wanting her to cook and simply laid back. Why not, given her passion for cooking?