axel

::twenty six::

Point of View: north 

[Round and round

I won’t run away this time

Till you show me what this life is for

Round and round

I’m not gonna let you change my mind

Till you show me what this life is for] {Round and Round; Imagine Dragons} 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

She's still laughing at me while I try to shake the flour out of my hair. I'll admit, it was pretty stupid of me to pour out the flour like that.

But I think this is the hardest I've ever seen her laugh, and I have to wonder if this is the hardest she's laughed since her mom died.

And if that's the case, and really even if it isn't, it's worth it to have a little flour in my hair.

She finally catches her breath, and I can see a tear in the corner of her eye from where she was laughing so hard.

"Oh my word," she gasps, holding onto the counter with one hand. "That was freaking hysterical." She starts brushing flour off of herself, and I bite back a smile as I wet a paper towel and run it over my hair.

She shoves one of the pies into the oven, still clutching her stomach. 

I go back to rolling out my crust, "Well. Thanks for telling me about the faulty canister."

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, "Faulty canister? Only someone who has never cooked before in their life would dump out the flour into their hands instead of scooping it, North."

I shrug, "Yeah, yeah."

I catch her grinning though.

She looks outside at the kids, and one of them-he looks to be about seven or so- waves at her and she waves back.

I nod at the kid, "How old is he?"

She looks at me, and then glances back at him, "He's six. That's Evan. He's sort of my favorite. I know I'm not supposed to have favorites or anything but..." she dumps some ingrediants into a bowl and starts stirring, "He is."

I watch her, watching him play, and wonder what his story is. What all these kids stories are. I was expecting to walk into this place and be washed with this sense of sadness and depression, but instead it's filled wit laughter and happiness.

I was expecting to be able to see the heartbreak on the kids faces, but you can't tell. They just look like normal kids for the most part.

Noah opens the oven and slides another dish in and I hurry to finish the pie I've been working on for twenty minutes.

"You can meet Evan when he comes in if you want. He's a sweet kid." She leans up against the oven and pulls out a piece of paper, studying it.

"Let's get started on the turkey," she decides and I slide my pie into the oven just as she grabs the turkey and starts working on it.

"So, you're listening to soft rock?" I ask as she starts cutting into the bird.

She raises an eyebrow, "Is that a problem?"

I shrug, "No, but most people listen to Christmas music on Thanksgiving."

A small smile flickers across her face and she points the knife at me, "Yeah, well." She goes back to the turkey and keeps talking. "I don't believe in Christmas music on Thanksgiving. I hate seeing the commercials and hearing the music and seeing the signs and everything. I think each holiday has its own time, and I don't see any reason to rush Christmas when it has almost an entire month and Thanksgiving is so beautiful on its own. It's just a weird quirk of mine, I guess."