When Scott Met Annie

Chapter 7: On Your Feet

By that second night, Scott felt like at least Annie was starting to relax a little in that she didn't seem to be making it a point to spend as much time in the living room with him as possible. It probably helped that she'd gotten a phone call halfway through the day — her other sister, she'd explained, who still lived in Atlanta close to her parents — and spent a couple hours upstairs talking animatedly. She seemed to be getting regular check-ins from her family — and he was starting to get the idea that it wasn't just because she had a strange man in her house.

He hadn't been able to hear the exact words — and he hadn't wanted to eavesdrop, so he pointedly didn't concentrate on them too hard — but she came back down in a great mood to make another meal, this time a casserole. He didn't recognize any of the songs she hummed as she worked in the kitchen, but she seemed perfectly content just to go about her routine as normal, which was honestly a relief to Scott. He didn't want her to feel burdened while he was stuck there or to feel like she had to change anything.

She still made her way over with two plates to set down on the coffee table, which she scooted across the floor until it was within arm's reach for both of them, and then went back to get cups. Once she was totally settled, she just looked up at him halfway expectantly, and he returned the look with his head tipped to one side, not sure what it was that she was waiting for. Maybe she was religious and waiting for grace — but she hadn't done that for other meals...

Finally, she let out a little sigh of disbelief and shook her head. "You are a horrible conversationalist."

"Sorry," he said, looking down at the perfectly-prepared plate in front of him with a sheepish shrug.

She shook her head again, leaned back in her chair with her plate tucked up at her chest level, perfectly comfortable and just watching him. "You know," she said at last. "Most people have homecomings that are a little less... destructive."

"It's a long story," he said.

"I'm just wondering what on earth you did to make this godforsaken wasteland mad at you," she continued, the smile stretching on as she spoke. "What, did you hit a moose?"

He couldn't help but smirk. "No."

"Well, you must have," she said with a little nod. "You pissed off the permafrost somehow, and from where I'm standing, you've done a piss-poor job planning anything further than going back out and getting pummeled again."

"That's a mouthful," he said.

"I can also do Peter Piper and 'she sells seashells'," Annie replied without missing a beat, the smile stretching on even wider as she sat up straighter. "Really, though, I know you want to leave. Clearly you don't want to stay in my living room a second longer than necessary—"

"That's not true," he said with a little frown, though... he knew he was lying the second he said it.

She gave him a sharp look. "Mr. Summers."

He cleared his throat under the look and tried again. "It's just that... I don't want..." He sighed, frustrated, and rubbed his forehead as he tried to work out how to explain that he didn't want her to go to any trouble — or get in any trouble.

This was so much easier with Jean, he couldn't help thinking. Not that Jean had needed the explanation, with or without the psychic connection. She didn't do... whatever this was Annie was doing with the cooking and the conversation and the overly nice... He didn't understand it.

Annie sighed and shook her head at him, falling back into silence for a long moment as Scott floundered for how to approach his next words without hurting her feelings.