Book 1 of the On the Run Trilogy!
Being a teenage girl is hard enough, but it's harder for Jackie since she's on the run from the US government.
Jackie Robinson's just trying to keep herself (and her two older brothers and dad) alive. She's trying t...
I'm sitting down at Parker's kitchen table, watching him make Christmas breakfast. His house always smells amazing, whether it's food or candles.
It feels weird sitting here. We haven't been alone together in a month.
But, I mean, nothing wild is going to happen today, right? We're responsible, smart teenagers.
I take another deep breath to smell the bacon cooking again.
According to Parker, we're having bacon, eggs, cheese, and croissants. So, it seems like we will be making sandwiches. I'm okay with that.
It's just breakfast. I can handle this.
"You okay?" he asks. "You've been really quiet."
I chuckle. "I'm always this quiet."
He snickers without taking his eyes off the bacon pan. "Took me a while to get out of your emotionless, guarded state."
That's pretty accurate, actually. I was very closed off when he first met me.
Parker and I don't talk much, especially when we're being watched like hawks by everyone. And when we're alone, we usually don't talk too much either, if you catch my drift.
I blush a little. "You've been quiet too. Usually, you don't shut up."
"All right, then," he jokes defensively. "I was going to make some sassy remark about how only you could make an ugly sweater look good."
I look down at my outfit.
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I laugh. "What can I say? I make ugly Christmas sweaters look good."
He turns to place the bacon on a paper towel to get the grease off, then he smirks. "You make anything look good."
I blush. "Thanks."
He winks at me and finishes making the eggs.
"It's a shame your parents had to work today," I say.
It is. I really like them. I've only seen them one other time since Parker's birthday party, and it was an extremely brief encounter. They were out the door for a shift. I'm pretty sure they have no idea that Parker and I are somewhat of an item now.
He shrugs. "They're busy people. Besides, I'll save the leftovers. I always do."
I smile. He's a good son.
He brings all of the plates over to the table a few minutes later. We chow down, talking about our friends and family. I never mentioned Dad's drinking problem to him. I don't think I should. It's not something I really want to discuss, nor is it something that's worth talking about. My family has a long list of issues, and that's honestly near the bottom at this point.
"You did a great job on breakfast," I say as I help put the dishes in the sink.
We haven't had a holiday feast in, shocker, eight years.
