Disclaimer: Here we go again. The disclaimer. It's more fun to tell you what I do own. I own a cell phone. I own a laptop. I own the chair I am currently sitting on. However, sadly, I don't own Sonny With A Chance. Sigh…

Hey guys!

So, Maroon 5 is my favorite band, and I was listening to "Sunday Morning" (in fact, I'm still listening to it), and I had an idea for a one-shot! So I decided to use it!

It's actually kinda ironic too… it's Sunday morning where I am! :D Well, technically Saturday night. But it'll be technically morning in, like, two minutes!

Anyways, enjoy your Sunday morning (or Tuesday afternoon, or Friday night, or whatever it is)!(:

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Let your love be like the misty rains, coming softly, but flooding the river.

~Malagasy Proverb

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Sonny's POV

"That may be all… I… need… In darkness she is all… I… see…" I sing along to the Maroon 5 song while I drive to Condor Studios, eating a blueberry muffin as a light breakfast. "Driving slow on Sunday morning… and I never wanna leave."

Ironically enough, it is a Sunday morning, and a perfect one at that.

The rain gently falls on the windows of my car, somehow beating to the rhythm of the song. The sky is a light gray color, forbidding any golden rays of sunshine to appear. From looking outside through the window, I notice that the air outside is misty and softer than usual, giving a clean, refreshed feeling. The weatherman said it was going to be sunny today, but I had learned to not trust the weatherman a long time ago… the hard way.

I'm not disappointed though. I love rain. I guess it's not how people usually perceive the idea of rain, considering the fact that most horror or tragedy stories usually start or end with a rain storm, but this misty, autumn rain is just perfect. For me, at least. It was the kind where you'd stay home and listen to it pitter-pattering against the window; listening to happy music in the background, your body curled up in a blanket next to the fireplace (or in my case, a television with a fireplace on it, because there's no need for one in California), reading a good romance novel while drinking a warm, sweet cup of hot chocolate. Ah… the thought give me a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach. Sounds like I have the rest of the day planned out for me.

"Nice car…" I say to myself while driving into the studio parking lot.

I park next to a sleek, black Mercedes. It wasn't rare to see the parking lot full of nice cars, but I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Because I didn't have my own car yet, I've had to borrow my mom's old, beat-up, faded orange truck. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom. I really do. I'm just not too crazy about her car. I get out of the truck, look at it, and sigh. Seeing the Mercedes next to my mom's truck bothers me. The scene is all wrong, like seeing a shiny, flawless diamond next to a pile of coal dust.

"Saving up for a car," I mutter under my breath, assuring myself that it won't always be like this. "Saving up for a car… saving up for a car…"

I put my blueberry muffin down and get out of the car. With a slight smile on my face, I take a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. Small, delicate raindrops cling to my skin, sending a slight, pleasant chill through me, which relaxes me. I smile at the thought before walking into the studio.

I usually don't come to the studio on a Sunday, but this was an exception. I was here to pick up my pay for the month. Technically, I was supposed to wait until tomorrow (the first Monday of the month), but I had been so anxious to save up for my new car…

I walk in, suddenly feeling the warmth from the overpowering heater. I wrinkle my nose at my discomfort, but put a smile on for the blonde secretary tapping a pen on the hard wooden desk impatiently, while paying close attention to her book. I guess I'd be impatient too if I sat there, wasting my Sunday, waiting for people who usually don't come in the first place.

"Hello," I say politely and curtly to the woman, looking up from her rectangular, black glasses. A spider-like finger holds her place in her book, while her blood-red lips formed a friendly smile as she asked, "How may I help you?"

I widen my smile at her as I say, "I'm Sonny Munroe, and I'm here to pick up my pay."

She raises her eyebrow, questioning me, as she knew very well that most people would wait until tomorrow to pick up their check, but seeing an opportunity to do something, she places a bookmark in and gets up. "Follow me."

I figure that this is the most exciting thing, if not the only thing, that she has done this morning. I don't blame her for jumping on the chance to do something. If the tables were turned, I probably would do that same.

I follow her to another room which I only visit once a month. I never pay much attention to the detail in that room, but all in all, it's a mini-bank filled with mini-lockers, each mini-locker for a certain worker here in Condor Studios. It's nothing to really pay attention to, and it takes approximately three precious minutes of your time to unlock, collect your envelope containing your check for the month, and leave. That's exactly what I intend to do.

I collect my check, thank the secretary, and make my way back out the door, where I once again take a deep breath of fresh air. Ah…

I get into my (mom's) car and put in the key. Expecting to hear the car's monstrous engine to roar to life, I plug my ears. But that was the problem: The car's engine doesn't growl. It doesn't turn on. It just sits there, ugly and lifeless, now valuing about the same as the coal dust I had described it as earlier this morning.

Any traces of the relaxed sensation I had while breathing in the fresh air had vanished. I really hate this car, and that was the ugly truth. Even more horrible, it was deciding not to cope with me. The relationship between this car and me was simple: drive me where I want to go, I didn't hurt it. That was the closest thing we've come to love… well, as much love as you can have for a car.

So, in frustration, I grab my muffin I had been munching on earlier, get out of the car, and chuck its remains at it. I lift my foot to kick it while I'm at it, but I'm interrupted by a familiar chuckle. I look up in disbelief, just as my eyes lock into those sparkly, ocean-blue eyes, confirming my suspicions.

Suddenly the rain becomes heavy, slapping against my skin, its coolness almost stinging my becoming-pale skin. My hair appears black and twisted in front of my face. My entire body is now dripping wet, and I hear the grumbling of thunder. I groan.

I look into the eyes of the owner of the black Mercedes I was admiring earlier, noticing his matching black, Louis Vuitton umbrella he was holding, keeping him completely dry."Pleasant to see you here," I listen to his usual arrogant (yet strangely seductive) chuckle. "So do you always chuck muffins at your car?"

"I hate this car…" I mutter under my breath. "It broke down."

Chad smirks at me, "So you threw a muffin at it. That makes so much sense."

I scowl at him. "Well, not all of us can drive Mercedes Benz."

He chuckles again. "Well, I can. Because I'm the greatest – "

"Actor of our generation," I scoff, finishing his sentence. "You're so self-centered."

He pops his collar like he's so cool. "Thanks."

"Ugh… what are you even doing here?" I ask, my voice sounding annoyed. You'd be annoyed too, if you were exchanging insults with Chad Dylan Cooper on a usually peaceful Sunday morning. And really, who knows? He could've just come all the way here to Condor Studios just to ruin mine.

He smirks at me. "Just to pick up my check," he lifts up his neat, dry envelope which I could clearly see had real cash in it, not a check. Stupid drama snob.

"Whatever." I sigh and think through my options. Well, I couldn't phone my mom to pick me up, because technically this was her own car. I could possibly ask Tawni, but when has she ever helped anyone? I'm pretty sure that both Nico and Grady didn't have a car. And Zora is eleven, so that was out of the question. Really, the only way I was getting home was by walking, which I guess wouldn't be so bad, considering my apartment is just a few miles away. "Well as much as I'd love to waste my Sunday arguing with you, I gotta get home. See ya," I shrug, then turn around and start walking.

"Wait," Chad says. "Aren't you going to call someone?"

I stop and turn to face him. "Well, this is technically my mom's car, so my mom can't get me. Tawni won't care. Nico and Grady don't have a car. And Zora – "

"I didn't ask for a story," he interrupts. "So you're walking home? On the streets? Where actual cars are, you know, driving?"

"Yes," I say.

After a moment of hesitation, I hear his voice say, loud and clear, "I can drive you."

I pause as my mind slowly comprehends his offer. I find myself laughing. It must be a joke. "What?" I manage to say through my uncontrollable laughing.

"You heard me," he says in a prompt tone. "And I'm not repeating myself."

I stop laughing. "You were serious?" I want to say, but the look in his eyes gives me my answer. Yes, he was as serious as Chad Dylan Cooper could get. "Oh" is all I can manage to reply.

He now stares at me waiting for an answer. "You can get in the car any day now, Munroe."

"Who said I was getting in your car?" I say stubbornly.

He chuckles as if I were joking. "C'mon Munroe. My car is better than the alternative."

I stick out my tongue like a 5-year-old. My excuse is that I'm a 'Random' (Chad's description, not mine). "I'd rather walk in the cold than be in a car with a stuck-up drama snob."

"Ouch," he says, jokingly. "But seriously get in the car."

"No," I refuse his offer.

His eyes are now sharp. "You're going to catch a cold. Especially when you're wearing a now see-through short-sleeve shirt and shorts with no coat or umbrella," he points out.

I defend myself. "The weatherman said it was going to be in the high 70's today."

"Because the weather man is SO reliable," he rolls his eyes, probably remembering my little incident with the weather man. I shiver at the thought myself. "Now seriously get in the car before the rain gets you even more wet."

"But maybe I LIKE the rain," I argue.

"It's not just the rain, Sonny," he says in the same sharp tone I used with him, but I'm already walking away from him.

First things first, when I get home, I'll explain to my mother about the car breaking down, and I'll have to call someone to get it out of the parking -

I lose my train of thought when I hear Chad completely lose it as I hear him start pounding on his beautiful black Mercedes. It makes me stop in my tracks and I turn around. "THIS. This has to stop. Right now. This - this - game you play and expect me to go along with it! How stubborn can you be? If the tables were turned, you'd offer me a ride too, Little Miss Sunshine. Do you really think I'm that much of a jerk to leave you walking in the heavy rain all the way home without a giving a damn?" I've never heard him so mad before.

I can't help but feel shocked. His voice is so serious and angry, so much different than his usual arrogant, seductive one I usually hear. "Chad – " I attempt to calm him down, but he goes on.

"Newsflash Sunshine. I DO give a damn about you. I'm not that much of a jerk, but obviously you think otherwise. You think that I'm such a jerk to leave you walking, in the heavy rain, in California where God knows what can happen do you?" he's yelling at me now. "Do you think I'm THAT much of a jerk? Is that seriously all you think about me?"

I feel my face turn as white as a ghost. He did bring up a point and a question that I never thought to ask myself. Well, a question I had always refused to answer when it did come up. What did I really feel about Chad?

He sighs in frustration of my silence and softens up. His blue eyes show sincerity. "Please," he emphasizes the word while getting into his car, but his eyes are still locked into mine. "Get in the car."

Well, he did say please. "Fine."

"Fine."

"Good."

"GOOD!" I walk over to the passenger side and get in, slamming the car door behind me. While getting in his car, I wrinkle my nose in both disgust and envy. The car's scent of (probably toxic) chemicals fills in my lungs. New car smell.

"Just be glad that it broke down here and not on the road," he mutters. I open my mouth to question this comment, but I decide to keep my mouth shut to not make him any angrier than he was now. He starts up the car, his shoulders tense and his teeth clenched. He drives out of the parking lot and soon we're on our way. I glance at his face to see his unmistakably blue eyes focusing on the empty road ahead. There is complete silence, and other than Chad's hands moving the steering wheel, the rest of him is completely still.

After a while, I can't stand the silence any longer. "Thanks," I manage to say.

His voice sounds irritated. "You're welcome," he mutters back in reply and glances at me. "You're cold, aren't you?"

I open my mouth to object, but only then do I realize that my whole body is shivering and my teeth are chattering uncontrollably. I don't want to admit he's right though. "What makes you think that?"

He chuckles once, "You're so stubborn… Damn it, I don't have a jacket on me." This is when I see what he has on. A white short-sleeve shirt and jean shorts, exactly like me, only his clothes are completely dry (and he looks like a supermodel in it). Criticizing my clothing choice… what a hypocrite. I look out the window, debating about this topic in my head but after a few moments, he hands me some warm, white cloth which is what I assume is a blanket. "Put it on," he says. "It'll keep you warm enough until we reach my house."

"YOUR house?" I question. "I thought we were going to my apar – "

I lose my train of thought when I see Chad driving, shirtless. My mind just about explodes. And though I hate to admit it, Chad is hot with a shirt on. Really, he is hot, and there was no getting around that fact. But WITHOUT a shirt on brings his hotness to a whole new level… and no, I'm not exaggerating. Sometimes I wish that he could just read my mind, because everything would be so much simpler and he'd know my side of all our stupid little arguments and maybe understand. But, at this paticular moment of his shirtlessness, I am happy that he can't read my thoughts.

"Earth to Sonny?" I hear a voice question me. I blink and realize Chad snapping me back to reality. He smirks slightly as if he's enjoying the fact that I like the fact that he's shirtless, but doesn't say a word about it. And I don't question this. "Just take off your shirt, put mine on, and I'll get you some dry clothes when we get to my house."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're implying me to switch shirts in front of you in the car? Where even more people can see?"

"Well, yes," he says. "I just took off my shirt in front of you."

"But I'm a girl!" I argue while throwing his shirt back at him. "And I wasn't paying attention to you when you took off your shirt! Put it back on. You're going to get cold."

He throws it back at me. "I'm more worried about you!" he snaps. "Put it on. We'll be at my house in a minute, so you can get actual dry clothes. The sooner you put it on the sooner you can get it over with."

I scowl at him, then look back as his shirt. "Look away then."

I replace my wet T-shirt with his oversized (on me, at least), dry, and warm one, which feels extremely nice against my skin. Out of curiosity, I sniff the sleeve, which confirms my suspicions. It even SMELLS like Chad's sickeningly sweet celebrity cologne. I can't help but fall in love with the scent. During this whole process, I can feel Chad's eyes on me, which makes me uncomfortable, but I cope with it. It seems to soften him up, and he even chuckles, "You know Munroe, if I didn't know any better, I would say that you enjoy looking at me shirtless."

"I told you to look away while I took my shirt off," I say, avoiding his question.

He raises an eyebrow at me. "How did you know I was looking?"

"You just said so now," I half-smile at the thought of me being victorious over this fight.

I see his face search for an answer, slightly relieved that his face wasn't the same as the one where he was pounding on his beautiful little car of his. He chuckles, "So I'm a guy. Sue me. And I never said I would look away."

I can't help but laugh now. And it's a real laugh, not the sarcastic toned one that I had used to often with him in the past. I feel slightly embarrassed, because compared to his fascinating attractive little chuckle, mine sounds more like a pig call. "You're so sick-minded."

He chuckles again at my remark, but says nothing more. The car fills up with silence again, though it isn't as uncomfortable as before. This time, he breaks the silence, by putting in a CD and scrolling through the tracks, settling on the number 8. I know the song immediately from the very first words.

"Sunday morning, rain is falling… Steal some covers share some skin…" I smile as a sing along quietly, but apparently it is loud enough for Chad to hear.

"Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable, you twist to fit the mold that I am in," he smiles my favorite CDC grin.

We continue singing along with each other until the song finally ends. Chad hits a button which replays the song.

"I didn't know you sang," I notice. "You're pretty decent, actually."

He just chuckles in response. "There's a lot you don't know about me. And thanks. You're not too bad yourself. Actually, better than me."

I look at his face to see if it's actually a genuine compliment, and I see no traces of sarcasm, so I easily accept it, though he raises his eyebrow in confusion. "Thanks," I say.

"Though acting is more my thing," he says, a little smugly in his usual arrogant voice, but he chuckles soon after making it clear he was joking. It makes me smile a little.

"This is one of my favorite songs actually. You like Maroon 5?"

"Yes, actually," he smiles at me. "I figured that it fit the mood today."

I nod in approval. "Yeah, I guess so." I start fidgeting with my thumbs and look outside the window while asking, "Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?" I allow myself to take a glance at him as he answers.

I see him hesitate for a moment, thinking through his answer. Once he makes up his mind, he simply shrugs. "I dunno. It's a Sunday. Everything's so much calmer today." He pauses again. "And because she…" he drifts off, then continues. "You're usually so nice to me. I might as well repay my debt." He grins at me, but my gut feeling tells me that that wasn't what he was planning to say at first.

We stop at some gates where Chad jabs in some number password thing to open it up. I've only seen this happen in movies when the overly rich enter their property of thousands and thousands of acres of land, so this is almost a magical moment for me.

The gates magically open and he drives on. It's a good five minutes until he finally stops the car and he gets out, running to the passenger side where he opens the door for me. I can't help but half-smile, but I remind myself that Chad isn't always like this, and that he'll be the same old 'greatest actor of our generation' Chad tomorrow.

We walk together to the entrance of his home (Well, that's an understatement. It's more of a Hollywood mansion.) and he unlocks it. To my surprise, it's even more fascinating inside than the outside. The second I step in, I'm greeted by unnatural, but surprisingly pleasant warmth. I stare in awe at the two opposite flying staircases on either side, the flooring being some pure white, expensive stone I had never seen before that seems to glitter where ever you step, the walls painted a majestic yellow-golden color, and the ceiling (Yes. Even the freakin' ceiling was breathtaking in itself.) was elaborately painted as the sky with white fluffy clouds and blonde, blue eyed angels, all resembling Chad. And in the midst of it all, a pure gold and diamond chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling completes the ensemble.

In other words, this single room probably costed more than I will make in my lifetime.

"Wow," I breathe.

"I'll show you to my bedroom. You can freshen up. There are my sister's dry clothes in my closet. Just make yourself at home," he says generously as he leads me up to his room (which is probably larger than my apartment altogether). He opens up the closet door (which is more of a living room for an average person) to reveal all of his sister's clothes, which appear a bit small on me, but I figure I'll manage. "I'll just a get a dry shirt real quick."

"Oh," I say. "Almost forgot." I start taking off his dry shirt to give it to him, but he stops me.

"Keep it. It looks better on you," he grins. That was strangely out of character, but I shrug it off. Then he ruins the moment by adding, "And I thought you were uncomfortable with me seeing you topless?"

I blush a slight pink as I say awkwardly, "You've already seen me once. Twice won't hurt. And I still have a bra on…"

He just chuckles in response, and even I can feel the deep scarlet color burning on my cheeks. Awkwardness. I break it though, by saying, "Well, thanks for the shirt. I guess I'll get into something comfy…" I look at the clothes, debating what I should wear, setting my eyes on pretty little dress, the softest blue thing I've ever seen, made purely out of silk. I don't recognize the brand, but I figure it was expensive nonetheless. Maybe even specially made for just Chad's sister. In all honesty, everything here is a little fancy for my taste with brands like Gucci and Chanel. I have no reason to look like a model anywhere really, so the light silk running through my fingers seems foreign to me. "It's beautiful," I say in a hushed tone.

"That was the dress she wore to my father's funeral," Chad says quietly. I assume he thinks that I won't be able to hear it, but the room is so big in the first place, it echoes. I hear him as clearly as I did when he was yelling at me about refusing his ride. Of course, he doesn't look anywhere near as mad. "I agree, it's very pretty."

I don't know whether or not I should respond, but I manage to squeak out a response. "Oh," I say, while letting the silk slip away. "I'm sorry about that. Your father's death, I mean."

"Not your fault," he says. "It was my father's favorite color, the color of my mother's eyes. That's why Charlotte wore that dress instead of a black one. Charlotte is the name of my sister." A smile, a friendly one, creeps up on his face. "You should wear it. It'd look good on you."

I smile in sympathy, then try to shift the subject slightly in hopes of making things just a tad bit happy while taking the dress off its hanger. "So why do you have Charlotte's clothes? Does she live with you or something? Maybe I can meet her?"

His smile fades away as he says, "She died in a car crash two years ago, Sonny." He scratches the back of his neck. "I haven't had a lot of time to throw her clothes out, really. Er… I guess it was good that I kept it though. Or else you would have nothing to wear," he says sheepishly.

So my attempt to make the mood happier didn't work. "I'm sorry," I say again, but this time he just shrugs as if it's no big deal. His eyes glimmer like tears are going to pour out, but it doesn't happen. I bite my lip. I never realized how hard his life was. I didn't even want to ask about his mom, but before I can stop myself, I do anyways. "How's your mother?"

He shrugs again. "I don't know. Turns out she only married my dad for the money. When he died, she got her share of his money and left us. Just me and my little Charlotte… and I couldn't… protect her… car crash…" he trails off dramatically, as if we were on Mackenzie Falls, yet something inside of me tells me he isn't acting. "It wasn't her fault. Her car stopped, the brakes stopped working, then a drunk driver… well…" he trails off once again, deciding that it wouldn't end well. He smiles at me now, differently than he has ever before to the point where I question if there's a single ounce of genuineness in it. "You don't want my whole life story…" he grabs a blue shirt the same hue as Charlotte's dress and jerkily puts it on. "Get dressed and you can meet me downstairs. I'll fix up something to eat."

Once he leaves, I take off my clothing and slip into the little blue dress which is soft and light against my skin. It even carries a light, floral scent, which I guess Charlotte's old perfume, which to me still smells heavenly. It's almost as good as Chad's celebrity cologne. I look in the mirror, and notice I don't even look like myself. The scene looks completely wrong. The soft blue silk adorned with ribbons looks so fancy and beautiful… it doesn't belong on my imperfect body. At one point, I mute my own figure and picture a picturesque blonde with long hair, her hair in gentle flowing ringlets… with Chad's blue eyes… with pure white angel wings, giggling and twirling in the strapless dress. Yes, that's what Charlotte would look like.

I leave my wet clothes on the floor, but fold up Chad's shirt (or I guess my new shirt) and put it on a chair.

Before I leave, I drain the extra water out of my hair and comb through it with my fingers. I use a rubber band (how classy) I always have on my wrist and quickly put my hair in a braid, so at least I look somewhat decent and can do the dress some justice.

The second I walk out of the bedroom, my lungs fill with a pleasant scent of… well, that's the thing. I can't exactly put my finger on it. Nonetheless, it smells like food. I rub my grumbling stomach. It could be McDonald's for all I knew and I'd still be happy. After all, I did only have half a blueberry muffin for breakfast.

I walk down the stairs and follow the scent which leads me to the kitchen/dining room. It almost looks like a bar, except happier and without alcohol. Of course, I only can judge what a bar does or doesn't look like by movies… because surprise, surprise, America's Good Girl has never SEEN a real bar, let alone enter one. Chad looks up from whatever he's preparing (I didn't know he could cook) and stares at me. "You look beau- I mean the dress looks nice on you."

I smile. "Thanks. I don't do it justice though." I sit down in one of the two chairs at the table. The silverware is already laid out and there's a mug with some warm, creamy hot chocolate and fluffy little marshmallows. I take a sip, then realize how good it is. I drink half the cup in one gulp.

He picks up two plates with some meat drowned in a fancy sauce that I cannot identify. He places one of them in front of me. "Don't be silly, Sonny," he chuckles. He puts his own plate on the other side of the table and sits down.

I get a closer look at what is being served. It appears to be chicken in a creamy tomato sauce on a bed of steamed, white rice and surrounded in sweet, juicy oranges. There's also some fresh bread on the side. I lift my fork and taste the chicken and find that it isn't half-bad. Actually, rather impressive for someone like Chad. I force myself to take slow, polite bites, regardless of my slight starvation. "Wow," I say with my mouth full. "This is REALLY good."

He chuckles arrogantly, "Greatest actor of our generation doesn't settle for anything other than the best."

I ignore the comment. He was too generous and I didn't need to sound ungrateful. "I didn't know you could cook."

His face becomes a bit more serious, but still trying to be friendly. "Well, with my parents gone, and me having to take care of Charlotte, I had to learn. I can't eat out every night. And I'm not satisfied with… noodles in a cup," he shivers at the last part like recalling an old memory.

"I guess that's reasonable," I say, while dipping my bread into the creamy tomato sauce. "Well… thanks for the meal then. It's very nice of you…"

Silence again. I focus on eating my meal, but I'm soon just dragging my fork through the sauce, which is the only thing left on my plate. I glance at Chad who is just now finishing his chicken. I feel almost bad for him… being forced to watch me eat like a caveman. I use a dark blue napkin folded neatly next to my plate to wipe my face off of any traces of food.

I hear a fork clatter against the fragile china we were eating on and look up. I see Chad, smiling now. "Ready for dessert?" he says while getting up and grabbing something in the oven, not really waiting for an answer.

I attempt to answer anyways. "Chad, you didn't have to—"

But before I can finish, he is already entering the room with the most beautiful frosted cookies, covered with light flower patterns on them. It smells heavenly, sweet and sugary. I realize now that this was the scent that I inhaled when I came out of the bedroom. He places it in the middle of the table and grabs one, biting it. "I need to make these more often," he smiles.

"You made these?" I ask in disbelief.

"Yes," he says. "Charlotte liked to paint and used to ice plain store-bought cookies all the time. So she taught me. Later she developed an interest in cooking and baking… this is her recipe actually. Though these aren't nearly as good as hers were though."

"They're very pretty…"

I take one with yellow flowers and bite into it and just about die of admiration. The design on the cookie is pure beauty in itself, but the taste is just absolutely PERFECT. The icing is subtle and sweet, not the overpowering sickeningly sugary kind at the store that makes you puke. The cookie itself practically melts in your mouth and is soft and warm. I break a chunk off and dip it into my remaining hot chocolate.

"How do you like it?" Chad asks with hope.

"I love them," I say, licking my lips and grabbing another one, this one having a light pink rose on it.

"Good to know," he grins.

Soon enough, the cookies have magically disappeared (a large fraction of them resting in my stomach). I sigh, "So… what now?"

Chad shrugs. "We can just talk, you know. Watch some TV or something. Before I drive you home."

"Sure," I agree while getting up.

Chad leads me to the living room (which like everything, is spectacular) and sits on the large, white couch. I notice that this room is more family-oriented, with pictures of their family and gives off a more personal feeling. The walls are painted the same hue of blue as Chad's eyes and furnished with white and silver decorations. Chad dims the lights. I'm guessing to give that movie-theater-like feel.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room is much, much colder than the rest. I try to keep warm, but I must've failed, because Chad notices. "You're cold," he says while turning on the TV. He holds out his arms, looking at me. I realize what he's doing, so I instinctively go into them. His embrace automatically warms me up. It's an awkward feeling to have the 'enemy's' arms around me, but I can't say I dislike it.

"That's better," I say. He smiles back. "So what are we watching?"

He starts flipping through the channels, then settles on one. "Mackenzie Falls reruns," he says. "If you don't mind."

I bite my lip. "Nah, it's fine. Which episode is this?"

"It's where Mackenzie's evil clone befriends Devon and tries to get Chloe to fall in love with him," he says.

"Ooh, it's a good one," I say, taking the remote and turning it up.

Chad looks at me skeptically, then starts laughing. "You watch Mackenzie Falls? Isn't that forbidden for you Randoms?"

I can feel my cheeks turn a deep scarlet. "Can you keep that secret?"

He jokes, "Anything for my Sunshine." I open my mouth to give him a long talk about how far I can drop kick him, but I see his face and realize that though he was joking about the 'sunshine' part, the secret-keeping part was real.

We continue watching the episode, and I end up putting my head on Chad's chest, acting like a pillow. His arms are like a warm blanket around me, and I decide I'm comfortable. It's almost as if his arms were draining the energy from me, being replaced with the sense of relaxation. Only until then I notice my eyelids getting heavy. "I'm getting a little sleepy, Chad," I find enough energy to say.

He chuckles lightly, "Then go to sleep. I'll wake you soon enough."

His lips press against my forehead and he whispers just barely in my ear, "Sweet dreams."

Before I question this gesture, I just barely see it out of the corner of my eye. A picture of Chad's family. All stunningly beautiful: his father with warm grey eyes and blonde hair, his mother's looks were very enviable with long flowing gold hair past her shoulders and Chad's exact blue eyes, and a cute little blonde boy around the age of 7 with the exact same smug grin Chad has today.

But only one stood out completely. Next to him was a little girl who appeared to be just a little younger than Chad, with big chocolate brown eyes and flecks of red in her chestnut colored hair, smiling a toothy smile. The only way you could tell she was related to the rest of the family was her remarkable beauty and the way her curious brown eyes sparkled like Chad's blue ones.

That little brunette girl must be Charlotte.

Realization strikes me. Charlotte with her brown eyes... and brown hair... the car crash… I realize that that's why Chad gave me the ride. That he wants me to be safe, that he wants me to be okay. Because I remind him too much of Charlotte to let me slip away.

Then I realize something about myself. Something I had left unanswered for too long, but it was the pure truth: I loved Chad Dylan Cooper.

Suddenly, I feel safe in Chad's protective arms, and smile at the thought, as I let myself slowly drift off to sleep.

~.~.~.~.~.~

WOW. That was a LONG one-shot. I'm so appreciative that you two people who are reading this right now had enough patience to stay with me! *Hands out cookies with iced flowers on them* :D Forgive me, they're not as good as Chad's.

Anyways, thank you SO much for sticking this long with me! I appreciate it so much, and I can't wait to update everything! (I promise I'll make shorter one-shots in the future…) Remember to tell me your thoughts my reviewing down there, and yeah! Thanks again!(: