Chapter 4
Disclaimer: All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story.
The distinct scent of waffles and bacon met Gabriella's nostrils as she descended the stairs. It was warm, promisingly delicious and definitely, after that spur of the moment exploring she did outside, belly rumbling too. Following the smell which of course led her to the kitchen, she greeted Ruth a jovial good morning, much to the surprise of the older woman since she was used to the meek greetings coming from her, and then she sauntered toward the table where a plate of waffles and bacon were waiting.
Bathed, dressed and feeling inexplicably relaxed, Gabriella settled herself quickly just as her stomach growled as if to announce its hunger, making her grin with a bit of embarrassment at Ruth who chuckled and urged her to dig in.
She did so. Taking the first taste of the waffle she topped with slivered almonds, strawberries, whipped cream and syrup, Gabriella closed her eyes savoring the delicious taste and made mewling sounds of satisfaction. "Oh God . . ." She started, her mouth full. "This . . . hmm, sooo good . . . Ruth . . . I luff ya."
"I've never felt so appreciated. Thank you." Ruth replied with a laugh noting that she built up her plate similar to Troy just minutes ago. Amused, she poured her a glass of juice like what she did for Troy too, earning a sassy smile from Gabriella who still had her mouth stuffed with waffles, cheeks puffed as she chewed. It should've looked unladylike and maybe to others disgusting but Ruth could only describe her as cute and childish and in her opinion is way more her than the detached attitude she's been displaying.
"No, no, I should thank you for these! If I could make waffles as tasty as these, I'll die happy." Gabriella's voice was muffled as she continued to eat. "How do you make it so delicious, Ruth? I love waffles but yours is the best one I've tasted."
"It's a secret." Ruth grinned, noting Gabriella's easy going behavior gradually showing as their talk flowed.
"I guess I'll have to come here more often for a taste of these."
Washing some of the kitchen utensils she used earlier, Ruth laughed as she regarded Gabriella with a merry expression. "That's the same line Troy told me a year ago. He loves waffles too." Then her grey eyes lit up as if she recalled something important. "Wait, you're that friend he talked about who likes waffles as much as he does!"
Gabriella stopped chewing. "I don't think so." She was quick to deny. Troy wouldn't talk about her to other people. No, he has no reason to mention her after all these years. Besides, he probably has other friends who enjoy waffles like they do.
Ruth persisted, unaware that Gabriella's buoyant mood gradually ebbed to unease at her reference of Troy. "No? But . . . he calls you Gabi, doesn't he?"
That made her gape and swallow a huge piece of un-chewed waffle. Troy really talked about her? Then she looked to Ruth with a pensive gaze as if seeking to affirm her suspicion, wondering what the woman knew and how much Troy had told her regarding their past.
Was it in a bad light or was it good? Not that she cared because she shouldn't but it was surprising to know this bit of info.
Of course, she wasn't blind to not see the amity Troy had with both Ruth and Ernie. Several times over the last two days, she heard or has walked in on them having a lively conversation of matters and people she hardly knows of. And while Troy would look at her with an unreadable expression or avoid looking at her altogether, his face perks up with the couple. So as she thinks about it, it's probably not a farfetched notion for Troy to open up to these people of things in his life, past or present.
She felt like an outsider to them which she acknowledges is her own fault because she confined herself to her room and offered no more than a smile or a quiet greeting or short phrased answers when pried by Ruth, than really strike a conversation like what she initiated minutes ago. She would've have chatted with them too if she weren't so freaked out over her writer's block but even with her aloof behavior, the couple treated her warmly especially Ruth who was like mother goose always making sure she and Troy had their meals on schedule.
Now she couldn't help assuming that maybe the hospitality being shown on her could be a result of what Troy told the couple about her . . . hence answers her question, he must've said positive things about her.
"Yeah," She nodded vaguely as if to show Ruth that what she said was of no consequence to her, before continuing to slowly chew the food in her mouth. "We both like waffles."
Ruth gestured a hand to her plate. "He did the same arrangement to his waffles too. Waffles, fruit . . . his were bananas . . . almonds, cream and syrup. In that order."
Gabriella forced herself to make of sound akin to a laugh since Ruth seems to be expecting she'd find it humorous when in fact she was bowled over by the blatant mention of her and Troy's similarity on this particular breakfast item. She had forgotten. Well, no, not forgotten. How could she forget their silly contest on who will be the fastest to assemble a plate of waffle before they get to actually eat their breakfast?
Her clear brown eyes swept over a number of ceramic bowls filled with a selection of fruits, two kinds of nuts, chocolate chips, a can of whipped cream, a squeezable bottle of syrup and a stack of freshly made waffles. She looked up to meet his azure orbs, excited and prepared to steal a win from him to even the score to 2 on 2.
"Ready, Gabi?" Troy asked a little smugly, eyebrows wiggling, hands restless on his side and slowly lifting as he poised for the contest about to commence.
Except for the eyebrows which she knows is a ploy of his to get into her nerves and therefore distract her, she did the same, not wanting to be out paced like what happened the week prior when she was caught by surprise by his sneakiness. "Ready."
"Okay, on three . . . 1, 2 . . . 3!"
The Troy-and-Gabriella game began.
And just like that, pandemonium broke over the breakfast table as two sets of arms began frantically reaching across the table from opposite directions, every now and then jeering at each other and swatting the other to keep from grabbing any of the items first, thereby causing some of the bowls to tip, its contents adding to the mess that's being created on the table.
But neither cared, they were in a contest and both were determined to win. The nine year old Troy was dead set in maintaining his lead. The eight year old Gabriella was single-minded in coming out victorious.
In the end, Gabriella's neat assembly of the waffles with the complete set of toppings was declared winner by her father who played the reluctant judge that morning.
"It should be a tie!" Troy protested like he always does when he loses but everybody knows he'd never forego playing one of the many games he plays with Gabriella because he greatly enjoys it. "My waffles have all the toppings on it too."
Gabriella stuck her tongue out at him but she was smiling so widely both from the thrill of the game and from besting him. "I win. Judge says so."
He rolled his eyes at her. "He's your dad . . . I say he's biased."
"Daddy's always fair!"
Mr. Montez chuckled, playfully ruffled Troy's already unruly hair and gently reminded him. "Troy, you're the one who picked me to be the judge."
"Well, why can't I win too?" He challenged, his competitive nature asserting even if they both know he doesn't really care if he wins or not. His motto, as he announced over the Bolton's and Montez's get together dinner a few summers ago, was that the joy of a game is in the game itself, not whether you win or lose.
Gabriella answered on behalf of her father, pointing at his plate and grimacing. "Because, Troy, that doesn't look very edible."
His face scrunched up as he looked at his plate. "You're right, I think . . . I might get a belly ache if I eat this."
The three of them shared a good laugh over the gross looking assembly of waffle toppings.
She just hasn't thought about their similar likes and dislikes in a long time. There's no reason to be thinking about him but the memory brought a genuine smile to her lips which she couldn't hide from Ruth. "I'm surprised he hasn't swooped in here yet. These smell wonderful."
"Oh, he had breakfast already. A large serving. I had to make another batch for you."
"He did?"
"Yes. Didn't he tell you? He rushed out after he finished. I asked him to call you in for breakfast." Ruth explained, hands stilling in the sink full of soapy water as she watched Gabriella's face change from confused to stunned. "You were outside, right?"
"Um, yeah, but I came in, I think, ten minutes after he did."
"We didn't hear you come in."
Gabriella blushed, laying down her fork and knife on the plate then sheepishly said, "I climbed up the tree by my room's balcony. I went out the same way earlier."
"Oh." Ruth paused and wiped her gloved hand with the thick kitchen towel near the sink. "But Troy went . . . well, more like rushed outside to get you. He's probably still outside looking for you. I think he was worried you've been out there too long. The weather has been unpredictable lately. Did you have an umbrella with you when you came out?"
Unsure how to take in that detail, Gabriella could only shake her head in response.
"Ohh, that's why he ran out to get you. I'm sure he doesn't want you getting sick from being under the rain too long." Ruth hastened to remove the gloves from her hands. "I'll better tell Ernie to get him back in or he'll be the one ending up sick."
Gabriella was about to stop Ruth and offer to do it herself but the loud bang of the screen door closing followed by heavy footsteps caused them both to swing their heads to the kitchen entry where Troy appeared seconds later, dripping wet and breathing heavily. "Where's Ernie?" He puffed through his wet and pale lips, somewhat agitated. His gaze directed at Ruth, not noticing the person he was searching for outside is a few paces off to his left watching him in a daze. "I can't find her—"
Astonished, Ruth lifted one of her still gloved hand and pointed a finger in the direction of the dining table. As soon as Troy jerked his piercing gaze to her and briefly to the half eaten food on her plate, Gabriella felt frozen in her seat, unable to rack her brain for anything to say as she was met by the worried look in Troy's face.
She doesn't know what to make of him and his unprecedented concern for her well being; a part of her was amazed that his body language indeed spoke of that worry.
But seconds later his eyes suddenly narrowed on her and she saw his body tense as if just now it registered on his brain that she was there in the kitchen, dry, comfortable and enjoying a delicious morning sustenance therefore his effort of searching for her outside was for naught.
Still, Gabriella didn't know what to say. Nothing casual or smart or even dumb is coming to her and the sight of Troy looking worried, tired, angry, soggy, and cold kept coherent thought close to impossible.
The hush that settled between them stretched uncomfortably. Surprisingly, Ruth also remained silent watching the two staring at each other. The brown eyes bewildered and at a loss for words, the blue ones looking annoyed and had a whole lot to say but was doing his best to keep it in check. More than that though, Ruth had a feeling Troy's rigid posture, his scowling expression wasn't because he hated being troubled over nothing but more on that Gabriella saw how worried he was for her.
It was interesting to watch. Ruth alternately looked at them looking at each other while Ernie, who just came in the house through the back door, watched his wife watching the two. They all waited what will happen next.
But Troy broke the silence when he shut his eyes for a brief moment as if to collect himself and harshly expelled a breath while he ran a hand through his damp and disheveled hair. He gave Gabriella one last long look then with his lips pursed tight, he turned away without a word.
* * * * * *
Picking a commercially prepared cannelloni shell from the open container while she waited for the water to boil, Ruth turned it over in her hand for careful inspection. "I've never done this pasta before."
Next to her, Gabriella was busy putting the ricotta through a strainer and into a bowl then seasoning it with a good pinch of salt, grated Parmesan cheese and beaten egg. "It's a popular Italian dish but here it's also called manicotti." She provided as she began mixing the ingredients while still keeping an eye on the sausages that were browning in the pan on the stove.
"How did you learn to make this?"
"My mother taught me just as my grandmother taught her. This is somewhat my family's signature dish." She looked up as Ruth began dropping the cannelloni into the boiling water. "People come over to our house for this—Ruth, just boil those for a minute or two."
"Yes . . . so this is a special occasion dish."
Gabriella went over to the pan of sausages checking if it's browned enough to suit her requirement. Unsatisfied, she let it cook for a little bit longer, turning each of them to brown evenly. "Not really." Then she adjusted the flame of the stove. "It's quick enough to make and there are many variations to the filling, depending on your preference."
Ruth nodded casting a quick sideways glance at Gabriella who went back to mixing the ricotta, amused by the ease with which she moved in the kitchen preparing for the pasta recipe. "And this one we're making is Troy's preference?"
She paused the mixing, turned to look back at Ruth's inquiring eyes and smiled uneasily. But she replied anyway. "It's his favorite pasta dish, from what I can recall." Gabriella shrugged to pass it off as casual, uncertain knowledge about Troy but Ruth threw her one of those unnerving grins, like she knows something Gabriella doesn't. "What?"
"Nothing." Ruth intoned, preparing the paper towels for the pasta. "I just think this is a great idea and a very nice gesture of thanks—"
"And maybe apology."
"Apology?"
Unconsciously biting her lower lip, Gabriella turned off the stove and removed the sausages from the pan unto a cooling plate lined with paper towels. "For worrying him."
Earlier, after Troy left the kitchen without a word, Gabriella did her best to finish the food on her plate which suddenly didn't seem so appetizing anymore. As soon as she was done, she made a hasty excuse to Ruth who she's aware was quietly observing her from the sink. She stayed inside her room sprawled in bed for the better part of the day while her mind wandered.
She felt guilty. She doesn't want to feel the guilt and there really is no real reason to be guilty because she doesn't owe Troy anything. Neither did she tell him whether directly or subtly, to come looking for her or worry about her. But try as she might, talking herself into losing this uncomfortable feeling, it was useless.
She asked herself why she feels the guilt. Was it wrong for her to feel it?
You hate him. Remember that.
Does she really?
Yes, she has good reason to hate him and hate him she did but 'hate' seems like too strong a word to use now. Doesn't hate have a tolerable period that after such time it cools down to wariness? She acknowledges that the rush of anger she felt toward him the day she arrived had been the result of hours of stress which undoubtedly clouded her rationality.
Permissible perhaps but now that she's had time to think, she admits she overreacted, met all of a sudden after so many years by his arresting persona under harsh weather conditions which she had to go through, that blaming him like she often did before, was a force of habit. It was easier to do than trying to control her emotions to allow for levelheaded thought.
Is she being immature about their situation? Arguably letting her long ago hate, though founded, overrule her reason? If so, why didn't she leave? He did return the key to the jeep the same night she arrived.
If she has to be logical about it, so far, Troy hasn't displayed any untoward behavior that could really warrant her hate of him to be renewed. She couldn't deny that the genuine concern she heard in his voice earlier when he couldn't find her outside, tugged at her heart even if at first she found it unbelievable. Also, she realized, she has this negative mind set of Troy caused by their ruined friendship years ago, that she somehow chose to ignore he's in truth a good person under it all.
So, okay, maybe she's acting like a juvenile and maybe he had changed back to the old Troy . . . the Troy she knew to be thoughtful, caring and a great guy overall. The Troy she liked, the Troy she trusted, the Troy who was her very first friend in Albuquerque.
Maybe something about this display of concern chipped away some of her annoyance for him and her natural soft spot for people who show kindness kicked in when she came to fully grasp the import of what he did . . . that's why there's the guilt.
The thing is though she couldn't possibly afford to add any unwelcome feelings to her current writer's block problem. That alone had been weighing down on her since she still hasn't written anything and any more considerations about other people or things would only prolong her muse from coming to her. She needs to get rid of the nagging feeling fast and focus on her real problems.
After much contemplation, she decided that the only way to quickly eliminate the unsettling mental strain was to talk to Troy and let him know she appreciated the concern because, hate him or not, for her to give him this much of a thought only means she's not entirely immune to him.
When she went down the stairs to seek him out, having decided she'll simply walk up to him to say thank you and have it over with, she saw him in the living room couch browsing through the few channels available on the television then when he couldn't find anything interesting, switched to video to watch The Hangover movie. He seemed so concentrated on the screen that he didn't hear her presence or maybe he did but opted to ignore her. Either way, she was again unsure what to do.
The earlier determination fell away and she suddenly felt scared of approaching him, disrupting his viewing pleasure especially after glimpsing the hard frown that marred his forehead despite the movie being a comedy.
So without a second thought, she walked back up the stairs, angry for letting herself be affected by Troy's frowning expression while watching a comedy and by Troy in general and for being anxious of the possibility that her effort to express thanks could be ignored and she'd look like a desperate soul waiting to be forgiven when really there's no tangible offense done.
Why is she getting herself so worked up over how he'll react? The only reason she's going to say thank you is to soothe her persistent yet misguided anxiousness over his sudden show of concern but alas, Troy Bolton still has that crazy, scatterbrain effect on her except now it's more disturbing than the giddy kind she used to feel when she was younger.
Damn it! What is wrong with her?
In an effort to dismiss thoughts of Troy until she finds her courage again, she opened her laptop and tried to channel her feelings into writing but as expected she couldn't even think of a word to type. And when she did manage to write a few words on the page, she ended up unable to complete the opening sentence because she couldn't decide if the adjective 'unsullied' sounds better than 'fresh'.
It's stupid, she knew, but still she debated with her own mind for nearly an hour before she gave up on writing.
It was midday when Ernie knocked on her door telling her that he and Ruth will be going to the village to buy some food supplies as it was running low and if she wanted anything in particular to be bought. An idea struck her when she was about to say no to Ernie. She told him she was coming to the village with them instead, surprising the caretaker but he simply nodded to her request.
While at the small but well stocked grocery store in the village, she took the items she needed and informed Ruth that she wanted to make dinner for Troy and of course, them too. Ruth was immediately enveloped in excitement. Whether it was because for once she'll get a break from cooking or that it was being done with a purpose, Gabriella didn't dwell on it much and neither did she take time to explore the change of scenery and amenity the village offered. In fact, if she allowed herself to be honest enough, she felt just as excited as Ruth although with a bit of trepidation.
"The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
Peeling off the sausages' casing, crumbling them and tossing it into the ricotta mixture, Gabriella laughed lightly and said, "This is just for gratitude, Ruth. I'm not aiming for his heart."
The older woman casually shrugged, seemingly unconvinced but didn't make an issue of it, as she slid the half cooked cannelloni's ready to be filled across the counter next to Gabriella then carried on to brush butter on the glass baking dish. They worked in companionable silence after that. Ruth busied herself as she made an accompanying salad and dessert for the pasta while Gabriella finished with filling the cannelloni shells, laying them on the glass dish, pouring sauce over it then popping it in the oven.
While waiting for the pasta to be done, Gabriella chilled a bottle of Chianti d'annata, the light zesty red wine that goes well with the dish; then she started cleaning up her work area and washing the kitchen items she used despite Ruth's insistence that she leave them alone.
"Where are you going?" Ruth called when she saw Gabriella leaving a few minutes later. "Dinner will be ready in five minutes."
She shook her head and offered a smile. "I'll eat later." She doesn't want to hang around to witness Troy's reaction when he sees the dish. He'll know she made it so she's going to let the cannelloni speak for her and hopefully, he gets her meaning. "I need to get some writing done. Thanks for the help, Ruth."
* * * * * *
The rain finally stopped but it left the night air chilly and alive with mosquitoes and various bugs natural to the surroundings. After lighting four citronella buckets that were conveniently placed there in the balcony to keep the insects at bay, Gabriella leaned back against the plush sofa cushions on the wicker chair, curled her legs beneath her and sighed. Contrary to what she had told Ruth, she wasn't able to get anything done with her writing.
There was just . . . nothing. She couldn't. Not when she's thinking about what's going on in the kitchen at that moment.
Staring ahead into the pitch blackness, she tried to clear her mind . . . well, that's what she's been doing since she came here but so far, to her frustration, no sign of clearing has happened. God, what's a writer to do to be rid of this block! It was maddening not to be able to come up with a solid idea for a story that will not only be interesting in paper but also on screen.
If she were in L.A. right now, she's certain she'll be with Tim. Probably having coffee at their favorite coffee shop, Kaffa, down the street from his art gallery or he'd take her to go see a movie with a senseless plot then they'd end up laughing about it or he'd drag her to the park for a picnic . . . and he'd know just what to say to make her feel better.
But she isn't in the city. With all the trees surrounding the house, it'll also be a miracle if her phone picks up a signal. Why she didn't think to bring her phone to the village is beyond her. So, the option of calling Tim or Taylor or even Keri is out. She's left with her own resources to calm her rioting brain and she has Troy for company . . . how sad is that?
As her mind drifted out into the darkness, she wondered what her life would be like if Troy didn't change into the jerk she learned to hate. Would they have remained close friends? Where would Tim be in that friendship, if it were the case? This vacation probably would've been really different if Troy and her are—
"Mind if I join you for dinner?"
Gabriella jumped at the sudden intrusion to her thoughts and when she followed the voice to its owner, she was shocked to see Troy standing by the sliding doors holding a tray of food, she smelled was the cannelloni.
"I—I . . . don't have . . ." She struggled to stand up but in her haste, her leg tripped over the other and she fell on her side next to the citronella bucket.
She heard him smother a laugh before a shuffle of sound and movement followed as Troy placed the tray down inside the room and came back out, holding her by the upper arms to assist her up on her feet. "Are you hurt?" He asked looking at her still startled eyes, apprehension in his tone despite the small smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips because of her stunt.
"Other than my pride . . . I'm fine." Gabriella quipped as she regained her bearings. He didn't let up on his hold and she didn't think to move away either even with the embarrassment she was still feeling for being a klutz again. "I'm just sitting out here. I didn't bring my dinner—"
"I did." He interrupted, tipping his head to the tray he laid on the desk where her laptop was. "For two."
Following his head, she saw that the tray indeed was for two people and to her surprise, she also saw Ernie waiting by the open bedroom door holding another tray with the chilled wine and two glasses. "W-Why?" She looked back at Troy with confused eyes.
Troy saw she was trying to gauge him and maybe find an explanation for his uninvited appearance in her room. He considered what he was about to say, eyeing her intently to help him decide if it was wise or not to be forthright. "I always eat manicotti with you." He said, going for the former.
She was taken aback by the frank way he answered. It's as if she should know this particular tradition of his. Well, she does and she also knows he always refers to the dish as manicotti instead of cannelloni, but things aren't the same as before. "It's been years."
"I know." The weight of her words brought a veiled sadness in his tone. "I haven't had manicotti in years." He carefully let go of her arms once she was steady on her own legs and she stepped back to put some distance between them. "It's still my favorite pasta dish though. And I really missed it . . . thank you for making it."
Like him, as far as Gabriella can remember, she hasn't eaten the pasta in a long time. "No . . . I should thank you." She insisted, puzzling him a little before she clarified. "Thank you for what you did this morning. For worrying about me, for going out to get me, you didn't have to but I appreciate the concern . . . that," She gestured to the manicotti on the tray. " . . . it's for you."
A small grin broke out from his face. "Let's have dinner here then . . . that is, if you don't mind we do it here. I'm sorry I barged in like this. I knocked but you probably didn't hear me and the door was open so—we can dine in the kitchen if you pref—"
She was in a trance, only barely aware that she said, "Here is good."
As if that was the go signal he was waiting for, Troy moved to get the tray on the desk then told Ernie to set up the folding table they apparently brought with them and place the contents of the tray on it. Gabriella stood to the side completely speechless while they arranged the wine, the glasses, the food and everything else on the table. She knows what they're doing but as her eyes followed Troy's movements, she was mentally asking herself what in the world was going on.
The Troy she knew is never nervous. He's cool, calm and collected as can be. He's rarely flustered and he's always so sure of himself. Not at all like what she's seeing . . . the contradiction of all that she knows because this Troy looks almost jittery. Or she could be reading him wrong.
All the same, she's basically baffled, irresolute on how to deal with what she's seeing.
It was when Troy softly cleared his throat that Gabriella snapped out of her haze and realized that everything was set up and Ernie had already left them alone.
"What?" She asked dumbly when she heard Troy say something she didn't quite get because . . . she's really, really confused and trying to make sense of it was keeping her mind all over the place. She didn't think that cooking the cannelloni would bring him at her balcony with food and wine and having tonight's dinner seem like a romantic date straight out of a romance novel.
Gabriella shook her head to straighten the direction of her thoughts. A date? What the hell? She's over analyzing again! For all she knows, he probably just feels obligated to extend some courtesy to her for making the cannelloni.
"You don't like the wine?" Troy inquired, sounding surprised as she shook her head. He paused in the act of pouring some wine for her.
"What? No! I do . . . I like the wine."
"You were shaking your head."
"I was just thinking of something." She quickly covered, adding an uneasy smile. "I like the wine."
He was hesitant. "If you're sure . . ."
"I'm sure. Just pour it . . ." She retorted then realized that her tone was probably a bit harsh so she softly added, "Please."
He conceded, pouring the wine then handing the glass to her. She thanked him quietly and took a sip while she continued to subtly observe him through the rim of her glass as he sampled his own drink.
In the days prior she never fully allowed herself to really see the physical changes that Troy acquired over the years. Sure, she saw the buff built—it was hard to miss his physical attributes actually—but other than occasional glances, she kept her eyes focused on his face whenever she had to look at him. But staring at him now as he stands against the railing, an arm crossed over his chest while the other held the wine glass, she couldn't help but be in awe of the wide shoulders, muscled torso defined by the faded green shirt he was wearing, the hard lines of his jaw shadowed with faint stubble and his chiseled lips.
He still has that hint of boyishness in his look specially when he smiles and when he seemed anxious earlier but he couldn't be called a boy now. He's all man.
And my God is he handsome. Undeniably so. Even more now than when they were teenagers. If before the girls at East High fawned over him like flies to raw meat, she wondered what they'd do now when faced with Troy's arresting good looks. She thinks he could pass himself off as a celebrity and get away with it too. He exudes casual perfection, a bit of smugness skimming the surface like he knows something others don't but his eyes are still the same striking blue she remembers them to be and at the moment, those blue pools are thoroughly amused as it gazes back into hers.
Gabriella panicked, quickly averting her eyes from him and she tried her best to temper the blush forming on her cheeks into an offhand expression when what she wanted to do was scurry off in embarrassment for being caught openly checking him out.
Making sure to keep her eyes away from him, she briefly scuffed her feet where she stood then moved back to sit on the wicker chair she occupied before he came. She didn't hear a word from him, not even a snort or a chuckle to tell her he wanted to rub it in her face and for that at least, she was thankful.
But a minute later a plate filled with pasta and salad was handed in front of her, making her look up questioningly.
"Dinner." He simply said.
Gabriella impulsively refused it with a shake of her head as she studied his face, not knowing where to attribute his actions toward her. Maybe she was being overly suspicious but she couldn't help it. She thought making the cannelloni for him, then have him eat it would be the end of this.
What does he expect her to do? Pretend this is normal?
How long ago was it when they had a friendly conversation? Or even been in the same place together for longer than an hour without her hate for him growing every ten minutes? Too long ago that she'd forgotten how it was like to actually hang out with him.
"Come on, it's just dinner." He sounded like he was assuring her of something.
Gabriella shot him a long, uncertain glance before she reluctantly accepted the plate. She did agree to have dinner here, after all. Then she waited for him to fill his own plate and sit on the wicker next to hers before saying, "Thank you."
He accepted it with a slight tipping of the head. The line of his mouth relaxed into a lazy smile then conversationally he mentioned, "Ruth said you climbed that tree to get in."
"I don't know what came over me." She cast a glance at the tree and absently bit at her lower lip.
"Felt great?"
"Yeah . . . felt like I achieved something."
A short silence passed between them, allowing him to cut a portion of his pasta and put in his mouth to eat while Gabriella had a sudden flash of memory of Troy teaching her how to climb up and go down the tree in his backyard in Albuquerque. He had a tree house there which was off limits to everyone except her and Tim until . . .
She frowned, annoyed with these brief flashes in her head. She really doesn't want to reminisce any of that past because it did nothing good to the current situation and the more she remembers, the more the long ago hurt she tried so hard to bury keeps breaking free of its confine. Expelling a breath as if to clear her thoughts and toying with the food on her plate, she quietly remarked, "I don't want to seem ungrateful. I appreciate you being here for . . . dinner but things won't be the same, you know."
He tensed then sighed after awhile in agreement to her belief; the soft clink of his fork on the plate seems to be amplified by their silence. Troy didn't sense any anger in her tone which he was glad for but at the same time the resigned way she spoke hit him with a sudden sinking feeling.
"Being here with you is weird for me." Gabriella added with a soft laugh, halting Troy from doing anything but listen to her. She was staring ahead, her plate forgotten on her lap, speaking slowly. "You changed so abruptly in high school that it took me two years to believe and really accept you were no longer the person I knew. I learned to live with that change and eventually became fine with it . . . until now. I don't know what you think you're doing but since I arrived you've been acting strangely toward me. I'm not used to this kind of treatment from you." She turned her head to gaze at him, finally braving to meet his eyes. "I'm not used to you being . . . nice," She offered him a smile that seems to carry great weight. "But it's kinda' nice to be treated nicely by you for a change."
Troy nodded and even managed to laugh a little with her repeated use of nice. "Where you're concerned, this isn't usual for me either . . . I understand the skepticism but we're not teenagers anymore, Gabriella. Let's give each other a chance to be sensible adults."
She couldn't believe she managed to open their past to him like that. It surprised her and, if Troy's initial taken aback reaction is any indication, he was surprised too because this is the very first time that the matter is brought up for discussion.
"Are you trying to rekindle our lost friendship?"
* * * * * *
