unlucky (newtmas)

6

It was three days later and I hadn't spoken to Newt besides our standard "morning" and "it's not a good morning" routine. By Saturday the foul rain of Tuesday had dried up and faded away, leaving a nice, sunny afternoon.

My mom had asked me to go pick up a few things from our local grocery store. She was on a rampage--the annual community baking competition was later that evening--and looked ready to strangle me if I didn't comply. I was honestly thankful to be out of her way.

I was debating between two different types of sugars when a small blond boy came sprinting down the aisle, crashing into my legs. Looking down in surprise, I hastily put the sugar down before bending to help him to his feet.

"Sorry, sir," he said shyly, but with a toothy, friendly grin. It looked so much alike to--

"Dean!" Came a slightly out of breath voice from far down the aisle. Dean and I both looked up simultaneously at Newt barreling towards us.

Dean jumped away from me and leaped into Newt's outstretched arms. He buried his face in his shoulder as Newt softly scolded him for running away. I tried to hide the look of incredulity on my face, but judging by the slight chuckle when Newt finally looked over at me, I don't think I managed.

"Your son?" I asked dumbly.

Newt blinked at me for a moment as if judging if I was serious. "No, dimwit, my brother," he finally replied.

I blushed bright red immediately. Mostly to hide my obvious and painstaking embarrassment (what's wrong with me?!) I continued in stride, "How old are you?"

My question was of course directed at Dean, who had poked one eye out of his hiding spot on Newt's shoulder. He turned his face away quickly.

"He's four," Newt replied instead, and although he rolled his eyes his face held nothing but adoration. "He's not much of a talker. Kinda shy, in case you couldn't tell."

"Not much of a talker? Maybe you should take notes," I muttered, still trying to ward away my blush. I turned back to the sugars as Newt stepped closer, shifting Dean to his other hip.

"Ha ha, very funny," Newt said. He hesitated for a second then continued, "Can't say I ever thought we'd meet up in the baking aisle, you know."

"Oh, you've been thinking about me?" The question rolled off my tongue without hesitation. I glanced over my shoulder with a small smirk.

It was Newt's turn to blush. The question seemed to throw him for a second because he stuttered awkwardly for a moment before turning abruptly to the products in my hand.

"So um--sugars--" he noted, so obviously avoiding the laugh I couldn't suppress any longer. "Are you--uh--baking?"

Deciding not to push his embarrassment as he had so graciously let mine go, I said, "My mom's baking cream cakes for the community baking contest tonight."

"No way!" Newt smiled, embarrassment forgotten. "Dean and I are entering too! We're just making cookies though. It's my mom's old recipe."

I was struck, for a single moment, by the genuine excitement and care on Newt's face. He looked so happy to be standing there, weighed down by his little brother, amongst all these confectionery sweets, that I was momentarily left speechless.

"Er--cool," I said. I scratched my head, then ventured, "You wouldn't--you don't know which um--"

"Your mom's making cream cakes?" I nodded. "Then get the superfine sugar. Much more satisfying than granulated in cakes."

Newt reached across me as he spoke, pulling a container of the aforementioned sugar from the shelf. His shoulder brushed mine as he stepped back again, handing it to me with a beam.

"Thanks," I said.

"No problem," he replied. "See you tonight, then?"

I nodded, watching as he pushed his hair back with his free hand and began to walk away.