Bloody Mary // J. Hale

Flustered Cheeks

That night, Jenna barely slept. Her mind churned relentlessly, processing the overwhelming flood of new information she had uncovered. Nothing felt the same anymore. When the first rays of sunlight crept over the treetops, she swung her legs out of bed earlier than necessary, restless and in need of a distraction. Baking seemed like the perfect escape—a way to keep her hands busy and her thoughts quiet.

By the time the kitchen was filled with the scent of warm batter and melting butter, Jenna had whipped up an array of pancakes: chocolate chip, banana, bacon, and cinnamon apple. She made more flavours than anyone could possibly eat and left an impressive mess in her wake. But seeing her younger brothers' delighted smiles as they devoured stack after stack made it all worth it.

From across the room, Jenna watched as Daniel and Jimmy attacked their breakfasts with the hunger only boys their age would have. They were at that age when a towering stack of pancakes barely dented their appetites. Meanwhile, Jenna herself nibbled absent-mindedly on a few misshapen pieces she'd left on the griddle, nursing a steaming mug of coffee instead.

"Well, look at you! Making us a feast on a Monday morning!" Charlotte's voice broke Jenna's quiet reverie as her mother entered the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee pot. She poured herself a cup, savouring the aroma, before turning back to her daughter with a curious smile. "What's the occasion for this delicious surprise?"

Jenna shrugged, sliding the milk canister toward her mother. "Couldn't sleep," she said simply.

Charlotte's gaze lingered on Jenna for a moment, her brow furrowing as her eyes fell to Jenna's hands, awkwardly bandaged and tucked close to her sides. Concern etched across her face as she set her mug down and stepped closer. "Honey, are you sure you're alright? Are your hands hurting from the injuries?" she asked gently, reaching out for them.

"I'm fine, Mum. They don't hurt that much." Jenna pulled her hands back quickly, tugging the sleeves of her sweater down to cover the bandages. "It's just... some tests coming up soon. My mind's been occupied."

The lie slipped out with practised ease. It wasn't entirely untrue—her mind was racing too much to rest—but the upcoming tests weren't the cause. She was ahead of her schedule academically; studying didn't bother her. But she couldn't tell Charlotte the truth. Not now.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. Jenna avoided her mother's sharp gaze, knowing she was trying to read her. Years as the undersheriff had given Charlotte an uncanny ability to sniff out half-truths. But to her credit, she knew when to step back. Jenna wasn't a suspect in a case—she was her daughter, and Charlotte respected her family's privacy, even when it was difficult.

Still, when the low hum of a motor drifted through the air, Charlotte's attention snapped toward the front of the house. She leaned toward the archway, peering through the large windows. Suddenly, a grin spread across her face.

"Ah... I see how it is," Charlotte said, turning back to Jenna with a knowing look.

Jenna frowned, curiosity getting the better of her as she moved to join her mother. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the motorcycle parked in front of their house. The rider, having just removed his helmet, shook out a tousle of blonde hair that gleamed in the morning light.

A blush crept up Jenna's cheeks and quickly spread to her ears. Well, there goes keeping him a secret...

"Jenna," Charlotte began, her grin widening, "is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Uh..." Jenna hesitated, heat rising in her face.

"Who's that?!" Daniel and Jimmy, abandoning their seats mid-bite, bolted to the front window. Sticky hands pressed against the glass, leaving streaks of syrup and crumbs.