Bittersweet Moments

25 | Panna Cotta

25 | Panna Cotta

Jackson still wasn't accepting the nuggets.

The last I remembered, the living room wasn't this stuffy and dark. Now, the curtains were drawn, dust formed a thin coat on top of furniture and whenever no one was around, silence was the king of the place that was the Dales' room. This atmosphere reminded me of the tension between Jessica and Lawrence. They were not at each other's throats, but I would never know what they were like without me around.

I had advised Jess to allow herself to get to know Lawrence more, so she could decide what was best for him. Also, I had told Lawrence to give Jess a chance and be patient with her because apparently, her father was a cop and her mother a judge. I had been with them for the whole weekend, making sure they cleared unwanted grudges. At the same time, I had tried make time for Mitch, too.

Hectic weekend. Even more hectic work day. Maira was in the kitchen, doing her work from home, Brennan was with his father, discussing who knew what and Jackson sat before me, declining my snack offer.

And the nuggets were getting cold.

"Ollie? Sweets? Are you even listening?" Jackson peered at my face, waving a hand over it. I was sprawled on the couch and he was on a rolling stool, book stretched over his lap. A hideous textbook.

I made a sound equivalent to both a growl and groan. My hand was draped over my eyes, shielding my sight from everything. "I have my eyes closed, jackass, not my ears covered."

"Well, you have to pay attention," said he, "You were the one who first suggested this, remember?"

I wished I didn't remember. I had asked a tutoring lesson from him, involving trigonometry and now I was starting to regret it. I had figured that if it were Jackson, then maybe learning things would be more tolerable.

"You're not doing it right. You're boring me," I grumbled, turning my body to the side. Sleep would sound perfect right now.

"No, you're just not cooperating." I felt his fingers trying to unlatch my arm from my face but I refused to budge.

"Fine," he blew out a breath, "We'll take a break. From doing absolutely nothing." I heard the scraping of his seat as he stood up and went to wherever he wanted to. Probably in the kitchen. That ungrateful nugget hater. I bet the plate of chicken nuggets were still on the coffee table, untouched.

I lowered my arm from my eyes just an inch and crept my other arm forward to steal a nugget. Successfully, I pinched the little beauty between my fingers and shot it at my mouth.

Savory, crunchy goodness. Why didn't Jackson ever want one?

Footsteps. Soft, due to the effect of the carpet. Jackson was back. Crunching. I heard crunching. And the smell . . . Chips? I was surprised that bastard wasn't fat.

I sensed him take his seat again. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss into my hair. A kiss. Yes. Neither us seemed to be much affected if one kisses the other. I kissed him once on the cheek. His favorite spot was my head.

"What's your mom doing, anyway?" I asked him. No response. Just chip-eating.

How rude.

"Jackson Dale, don't get crumbs on my forehead," I chastised. "Answer my question, dumb butt."

He finally replied, "I'm not dumb. And Mom's doing plans for the anniversary party. Remember the one she asked you to cook in?"

Anniversary . . . Anniversary party. "That's in three days," I realized. I still couldn't wrap my head in the fact that Maira Dale was going to have me cook for a celebration, and she's going to put me in a dress. In a horrible, frilly dress.