Chapter 7: Hunger


IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE LINGERING STENCH OF ALCOHOL AND CIGAR SMOKE, Nina would have believed last night had been a dream—not quite a nightmare but still bizarre, surreal, silly, and a little scary. She steps out into the hall with a grumble, regretting not showering the night before. She had been so exhausted she let herself fall into bed. She makes a mental note to wash her sheets.

As she reaches for the bathroom door handle, she finds it locked. Her brows furrow as she jiggles it again, wondering if it's just stuck (in a house as old as Grandpa John's, it's possible).

"Just a minute!" A deep voice calls out, causing Nina to step back in surprise.

The door opens to reveal the most unexpected aspect of her dream-like evening: Paul Lahote. He's shirtless, but when is he not? Nina has slowly become used to the sight of muscled up young men, or has at least started to treat it as a pleasant regularity. The cause for the blood rushing to her cheeks, however, is a less common state of undress. Paul leans against the jamb of the door, his hair damp, droplets of water glistening against his chiseled chest, and a towel precariously wrapped around his waist.

She turns away with a blush.

"All yours," Paul tells her. She peeks up in time to catch a smug, self-aware smirk on his obnoxiously handsome face. He moves past her into the hallway, their shoulders brushing together so unnecessarily that Nina suspects he did it on purpose.

"Choose your battles, Nina." She whispers to herself as she closes the door. She swears she can hear Paul chuckle from the guest bedroom.

Nina holds onto the edge of the counter. The reflection in mirror stares back at her with wild hair and tired eyes—almost a stranger. It's been so long since she took the time to really look at herself. People always told her she was a perfect mix of her parents: her mother's almond-shaped eyes, her father's high bridged and stately nose, her mother's unruly waves. Even her skin, though closer in shade to her mother's, had the rich undertone of her father's.

That was probably the root of why she hated catching even glimpses of her own reflection, why she turned away whenever she brushed her teeth or combed her hair. Because it was like she wasn't looking at herself anymore, she was looking at them. She knew that other than the photographs or the hand-me-downs (all things so easily burned, all things that didn't mean anything in the end), that her reflection was the only thing she had left to remind herself that they had ever been around at all.

Nina shakes her head, taking in a deep breath. She refuses to spend another day crying and wallowing in her own grief.

She turns the faucet and pulls back the shower curtain, ready to wash off the night before and begin again.

. . .

There's something off about the house as she walks down the stairs. She isn't immediately sure what it is, but can't stop the sense of something being off.

"Grandpa John?" She calls out, hearing someone rustling around in the kitchen.

"Nope, just me." Paul responds, holding up a piece of paper as she enters the room. It's scribbled with familiar handwriting. "John went to the marina with Billy."

"Oh, awesome." Nina mumbles, shuffling further into the kitchen. No John meant no bacon and pancakes. She frowns in disappointment, trying to figure out what she'll eat to tide herself over until her grandfather's inevitable return with fresh seafood.

"You smell a lot better." Paul pipes up from beside her, pulling a carton of orange juice from the fridge and pouring himself a glass. He offers but she shakes her head, choosing to ignore his comment (as if she wasn't perfectly aware). She turns to the coffee maker instead, noticing the usual aroma isn't there. Her frown deepens as she inspects the empty pot.

No coffee either.

Realization hits her. That's what had been off: the scent. No hot breakfast, no freshly brewed coffee. All scents she had become accustomed to in the morning. It's an almost lonely feeling.

"Did you not use the hot water? That shower was scalding." She mentions nonchalantly as she once again weighs her food options. She lets out a little sigh as she reaches for the bag of bread on the counter, untwisting the tie and throwing a couple of slices into the toaster.

"Nah, I like a cold shower to really jolt me awake in the morning." He responds proudly.

She watches Paul continue his search through the cabinets as she waits for her toast.

"What are you doing?" She asks finally, exasperating by the repeating opening and closing of cabinets. She smirks slightly at his lost expression.

"Trying to find something to eat. Cereal, anything."

"We don't have cereal. Grandpa John always makes a hot breakfast in the morning." Nina gestures to the beat up but faithful appliance in front of her. "You could have toast."

"There was eggs and bacon and stuff in the fridge, we could cook that." Paul mentions, rubbing his stomach over his t-shirt (but that doesn't stop her from imagining what she knows to be rock solid washboard abs).

"You could." Nina looks at him. She feels both sheepish and unapologetic at the same time, and isn't sure quite how. "I can only make toast, and even that's kind of a fire risk."

Paul balks at that.

"You can't cook?"

"Not every girl here is a freakin' Betty Homemaker ready to meet your every need." Nina rolls her eyes. "You're obviously useless, too."

"Let's go to the diner, then." He suggests, glossing over her quip.

"No, I made toast."

"But I'm hungry." Paul all but whines, and she notices how close he's gotten to her. Has the kitchen always been this small?

"Just go by yourself then." Nina snarks back, but her rumbling stomach betrays her. She looks guilty at her toast as it pops up with a ding. A small sigh leaves her lips as Paul watches her expectantly. "Fine. Give me a minute to dry my hair."

. . .

Paul is waiting for her when she steps down the stairs. He notices her and his lips curve upward. Nina bites her cheek, trying not to smile back at him.

"So how do you plan on getting to the diner?" Nina asks, looking away under his heavy gaze.

Paul clears his throat.

"Well, I don't have a car... I usually just bum rides off of others or walk everywhere."

Nina stares at him, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth to stifle a laugh.

"Wow." She deadpans, grabbing her purse and John's keys from the hook by the door. "How cosmopolitan of you."

Thankfully John had been picked up by Billy, which meant that the Ranger was still there. Paul follows behind her dutifully as she locks up (more of a Seattle habit than a necessity on the rez).

"I'm turning into the La Push chauffeur." Nina smirks as she pulls away from the house. Paul shifts in the passenger seat next to her, filling the small cab with his earthy and heady scent. Like soap and nature.

Paul sniffs lightly at the air.

"Yeah, it smells like the whole rez has been in here."

"My, what a good nose you have." Nina muses without thinking.

"Hm? Nah, it was just a joke. You know, like the Ranger has seen better days." He tries to correct his slip up but Nina's too busy accidentally imagining him dressed like a grandmother in a bonnet and mumu. She doesn't challenge his excuse—Nina isn't ready to talk about the proverbial wolf in the room (or car), for any number of reasons.

1. She isn't sure how Paul would react to her knowing his furry little secret.

2. She hasn't decided if the aforementioned furry little secret poses any danger to her.

And, more importantly:

3. She still isn't completely convinced the whole wolf thing wasn't just the result of a psychotic break.

Paul opens the door for her when they get to the diner, which she tells herself is basic manners and nothing for her heart to be freaking out over. They're lead to a table near the back and Paul sits down, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

"Don't worry about money, this is on me." He tells her offhandedly, browsing the menu.

Nina raises a brow.

"And why is that?"

"I'll be eating the most anyway."

"Right. But why wouldn't I pay for my own?"

"It's my treat." He groans. "Like a birthday present. Just accept it, Nina, jeez."

"Well, when you offer so sweetly." She rolls her eyes, scanning for the most expensive items. The Hungry Trucker Combo. Perfect.

The waitress comes by to take their order and Paul wasn't kidding when he said he was going to be eating the most. Watching the waitress keep up with Paul's long order makes her feel a little silly for her anticlimactic act of revenge. The young server, probably a Fork High student, returns with a steaming cup of coffee and Nina grins in anticipation.

"No milk or sugar?" Paul watches with a horrified expression as she takes a sip of the fresh brew.

"Nope." Nina shrugs. Growing up in Seattle meant getting to drink some seriously good coffee, and Nina had learned along the way that there was plenty to appreciate in a roast without having to add anything extra. She glances at Paul's second glass of orange juice for the day. "Not a coffee fan?"

"Nah, it tastes gross and I don't really need the extra energy." He smirks at her and she rolls her eyes again.

"I'll take your word for it."

Their food is delivered, another server having to help bring out the plates. Actually seeing her own order makes her feel guilty, realizing there's no way she could eat it all. She glances up at Paul, guessing he would probably take whatever she didn't want.

She tries to focus on herself for the rest of the meal, but it's hard not to watch Paul eat. She wonders what kind of damage he'd do at one of those restaurants with free food challenges. Like maybe a five pound burger or those jumbo ramen bowls. She figures he could easily pack away a giant deep dished pizza or a bucket sized ice cream sundae.

Paul raises his head, meeting her glance. She looks away immediately, feeling embarrassed for having been caught staring. Her cheeks heat up.

"So I was thinking about the swingset and hair pulling thing. I'm sorry, Nina. I don't want you to think it was a personal attack or anything, I was just through a rough time and beat up on everybody back then." He laughs slightly. "Ask Embry."

Nina turns slowly to look at him again.

"I never said I didn't know why you did it." She gives him a small smile at his more sincere apology.

"So John said you like to read. What's your favorite book?"

"I'm not going to have awkward small talk with you, Paul." She frowns, looking at her half-eaten breakfast. "Would you like the rest of this?"

"Sure." He nods, shoveling the rest of the food in his mouth as if he hadn't cleaned up three plates on his own.

She realizes in horror that the next few days could be filled with the same awkward conversations. It's not like she lives a busy life, and she doesn't even have schoolwork to distract her now. If she wants Paul off her back she'll have to figure something out.

As they drive back, she can't help but look at the businesses they pass by, wondering if they're hiring. Her eyes linger on the library, where she remembers spending a lot of time during the summer. She had volunteered back in Seattle, maybe she could volunteer here.

"Would you mind dropping me off at Emily's?" Paul breaks the silence, rubbing his mysteriously flat stomach.

"Yeah, that's fine." Nina keeps her gaze focused on the road, knowing it isn't doing her any good to keep glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She's still amazed by the amount of interactions they've had within a twenty-four hour period, especially after not even looking at each other for the month she'd been in town.

"Have you ever had Emily's cooking?" She shakes her head. "Emily's an amazing cook, and she'd love to meet you. You should come over sometime."

"Why would she love to meet me?" Nina murmurs. Paul shifts around his seat. Eyes on the road, eyes on the road, eyes on the road.

"Uh, because she's nice?" He falters unconvincingly.

Nina lets out a sigh.

"I'd feel uncomfortable going if it wasn't her directly inviting me."

"Why are you so damn difficult?" Paul huffs at her, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Nina shrugs, deciding it's better to ignore him. And she isn't sure, really. Why is she so damn difficult?

With Paul's directions, given to her in a hushed and still-irritated voice, she pulls up to Emily's house. She puts the car into park, staring ahead over the dashboard.

"Are you just going to drive off?" Paul asks in surprise after unclicking his seatbelt. Her brows furrow together.

"Yeah?"

"You could, uh, come say hi."

She tilts her head to stare blankly at him, wondering if it's part of some elaborate scheme to lure her to Emily—if this is even Emily's place.

"Is this a trap?" Nina deadpans, watching him from the corner of her eye.

"What?" Paul laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. "Forget it, I forgot you love shutting other people out."

Ouch.

"Bye, Paul." Nina frowns. She all but pushes him from the truck, leaning over to slam the door behind him. She drives off, tears pricking at her eyes. She curses under her breath. "Damn it, Nina, I said no crying today!"