Kidnapped Love

Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

I woke up to the tantalizing aroma of pancakes and waffles wafting through the air, filling my senses with a mixture of excitement and confusion. My mom had already left for work, so the mystery of who could be whipping up this delicious breakfast hung in the air. Eager to unveil the culinary artist behind this morning surprise, I hastily threw off my warm covers and bounded down the stairs in my cozy pajamas. However, as I approached the kitchen, a veil of smoke caught my eye and a burning scent invaded my nostrils. My pace quickened, fueled by concern, as I yearned to discover the source of the commotion. And there, just around the corner, stood Ron, a bewildered expression etched across his face as he valiantly battled with the unruly stove.

"Ron, what on earth are you doing?" I queried, startled by the chaotic scene before me. He turned around, a mix of panic and relief in his eyes, as he struggled to salvage the charred remains of his cooking endeavors.

"Good. You're awake. Can you please help me?" Ron took a step back, distancing himself from the stove, while I promptly shut off the burners before any smoke alarms could intervene. The pans on the stove were adorned with blackened, round flapjacks that emitted an unmistakable scent reminiscent of a campfire gone awry. As I swiftly disposed of the culinary catastrophe, Ron stood back, shaking his head in self-disgust.

"They really should provide more detailed instructions on the back of pancake boxes," he lamented, his tone tinged with disappointment. This was definitely not the morning scene I had anticipated.

"If you didn't know how to cook, why didn't you wake me up?" I retorted, a tinge of annoyance coloring my voice, as I forcefully tossed the pans into the sink. I didn't want Ron to feel dejected for his valiant attempt at cooking, but I knew him well enough to understand that without my intervention, he might have burned down the entire house. Shaking my head, I tried to suppress my frustration and regain composure.

"I was trying to be nice by making my little sister breakfast." He said, trying to be innocent.

"Why are you making such an enormous amount of food? It seems like this is meant for more than just the two of us," I inquired, my tone now more composed. Peering into a bowl that held an excess of batter capable of producing at least twenty medium-sized pancakes, I couldn't help but wonder why Ron had gone to such lengths.

"Well, I invited Trish and Mike over for breakfast." He hesitated slightly as he mentioned their names, as if grappling with some hidden ulterior motive. I understood his intentions with Trish, but the inclusion of Mike seemed to imply a devious plan before me.

"If this is your way of trying to set up Mike and me, I want no part in it." I snapped, my anger escalating at the thought of someone orchestrating my personal relationships.

"I just thought you could get to know him better before the dance," Ron countered, seemingly unaffected by my outburst. His nonchalant response only fueled my ire.

"I never said I would go to the dance with him!" I exclaimed, my voice reaching a higher pitch. Ron's blasé reaction did little to assuage my frustration. As I stormed out of the kitchen, Ron trailed behind me. "Oh, come on, you used to really like him." He insisted, his words causing my anger to shift abruptly to confusion. I turned to face him, realizing that he had completely lost his grip on reality.

"I only met him once, when he was here." I enunciated slowly and deliberately, striving for clarity. Ron's bewildered expression revealed that he wasn't willing to let this peculiar notion go.

"Don't you remember him at all?" Ron asked, mirroring my own confusion. In that moment, I concluded that Ron must be in dire need of psychiatric evaluation. He genuinely believed that I knew Mike, but how could I? Perceiving his unyielding conviction, I sighed in resignation.