Smash!

•T H I R T Y F O U R•

Riley's POV

"Hey." I softly call Jamie's attention from my spot atop the kitchen counter.

"Hey yourself." She responds, not looking away from the steaming pot of rice she's working with on the stove. Attracted by the smell of food, Killer circles her feet, his tail wagging so fast it bumps into Jamie's ankles in an uneven rhythm, but Jamie doesn't look like she minds.

"Why are you a baker again? You don't seem to like it as much as cooking." I observe her mold the rice into sushi. Not only does she not seem grossed out or mind handling the raw fish, but actually looks like she's enjoying it. Whenever she's at the bakery, Jamie doesn't have the same kind of light in her green eyes like when she's by a stove. When Jamie cooks, she can't seem to stop humming happy tones to herself. She also lovingly makes food for others, she uses it as an excuse to cook more.

"Because it makes me feel close to my   deceased grandmother. Baking was our special thing." Jamie explains, smiling down sadly at her half made sushi roll, as if she remembering the smell of her grandmother baking cookies.

"That's really touching," I start, "but, your heart seems to go into cooking." I point out. Jamie's hands lock up around sushi roll, rice threatening to spew out in half hazardously through the cracks of her fingers.

"Is it that noticeable?" She asks, finally looking at me.

"Is what noticeable?"

"How much I don't like my job." Jamie answers quietly.

"Does anyone like their job?" I try to take away that frown on her face, but it doesn't budge, which just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

"I want to... that's something I've always wanted since I believed in Santa Claus. To wake up everyday, do a job I actually like."

"You believed in Santa?" I ask in disbelief. I can't picture a kid version of Jamie. Kids are rambunctious, they constantly run around and smile all damn day like idiots. Kids' hands are always covered in colorful markers, and they're are picky eaters.

I don't think Jamie was ever like that in her life.

When I think of a child version of Jamie, I see a tiny girl who never threw tantrums, but looked back at the world with the exact same mindful, yet serious expression. In my mind, I can see her being the first in her kindergarten class who didn't believe in the tooth fairy or the Easter Bunny. I can see a little girl who didn't like cartoons, but Julie Andrews movies, like the Sound Of Music. I bet she went to Sunday school, and asked too many questions, like how could reptiles talk and how people could turned water into wine. I can see a small Jamie learning how to bake with her grandmother, then fighting with her brother because she didn't like sugary cereal even at a young age. I can see her getting excited about going to Denist appointments and doctor checkups, while most kids went kicking and screaming.

When I think of a young Jamie, I think of a little girl without parents who grew up too quickly.

"For about a week when I was four." She shrugs. Of course she figured out Santa isn't real at a too young age.

"I think every mall Santa in the country just heard you and twitched." I joke, noticing how she almost laughed. Almost.

"Okay, that's motivates me." Hopping off the counter, I go off to find my black hoodie.

"Motivates you to do what?" Jamie asks. I offer Jamie her warmest coat, while a plan forms in my head.

"What about diner?" She asks, watching me tug on my hoodie.

"Do you think there's a Dunkin Donuts with a drive through in our area?" Ignoring her question, I ask as my head pops through the hoodie.

"Why a Dunkin' Donuts?" Jamie asks, watching me put on a leash onto Killer, who protests by sinking his teeth into the red material and starts a tug of war.