My Brother's Best Friend

Chapter Seven

Everyone's sitting around the living room, either talking or playing cards. Well, everyone except for Fergie, who is in the kitchen making dinner for everyone. Everyone is so occupied that I don't think they notice when I make my way to the kitchen to bother Fergie. I've never seen this side of him before, and I've known him for a long time. He looks like someone's dad the way he is so concentrated on cooking. He furrows his eyebrows while dicing up a tomato, putting creases in his forehead.

"Now this is funny." I clap my hands and chuckle.

"What's fun—ow." He accidentally cuts his finger. I can be the blame for that one. I caught him by surprise. It's probably not the best thing to do with someone who is holding a knife.

"Oh damn, sorry." I walk up to him and look at his finger.

"It's cool." He licks his finger and opens a cabinet.

"You're gross." I wince at the sight of him licking his own blood.

"It's my blood." He pulls out a first aid kit.

"Still nasty."

I watch him as he washes his hands with water and soap, before opening the first aid kit.

"Here, let me." I grab some ointment and apply it to his finger.

"I can do it myself." He eyes me.

"Think of it as me returning the favor." I smile, referring to the time he tended to my wounds when we were younger.

"Okay." He smiles, watching me place a band aid on the cut.

"All better." I pat his finger.

"You forgot to kiss it better."

"Boy you got me messed up, I'm not kissing your finger." I laugh. "That's a good one, you're funny." I close the first aid kit and put it back in the cabinet.

"Will you at least stay in the kitchen and help me cook?" He asks.

"Yeah." I nod my head. "How come I never knew you liked to cook."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me." He shrugs his shoulders.

Zach Ferguson has stolen my heart. It's crazy how I've been liking him ever since we were little. I thought that I'd get over it throughout time, but it has only gotten stronger. He continues to amaze me—like my newfound knowledge to him cooking. I wonder what else there is to know about him.

"I see." I chuckle.

"Can you put some sauce in those noodles?" He hands me a bottle of red sauce. "Looks like you're having fun so far."

"I am." I nod my head, pouring the sauce into the pan of noodles.

"That's good. I'm glad you are."

"Thanks."

After we eat dinner, we watch a few scary movies on the big screen in the living room. I didn't think it was a good idea, being in the woods and all. As if my paranoia isn't bad enough, the scary movies only made it worse. I'm definitely not walking anywhere alone in this house later on tonight. I don't care who I have to wake up; I'm not even going to the kitchen alone. They all laughed at how silly I sounded, but at least I'm aware of what happens in cabins in the woods.

"You're so over-dramatic." Fergie laughs, as he starts the fire.

"I am not." I lie down on the bed, propping my elbow to support my head.

"Yes, you are. You punk."

"I'm not a punk." I playfully kick his back with my foot.

"Can I sleep on the side by the fire?" He asks.