|Author's Note| Rated T for language...and stuff. I'm pretty sure this fic isn't M.
Pairing: Koko x Sumire.
To the readers, I apologize for any errors. I hope you don't skip paragraphs haha. Well, then. Enjoy!
Highway 340
Chapter Seven
I hoped that I went by unnoticed, but Sumire looked at me and clasped her hands over her mouth. Although her physical state showed that she wanted to assault me for breaking into her personal space, she merely wiped her hands on a towel hanging on the doorknob. "If I remember correctly, you're Kokoro Yome."
"And if I remember correctly," I instinctively hid the cake behind my back, "you're a party-goer, not a laundrywoman."
"Funny," she rolled her eyes and fixed her damp top. "Would you mind waiting for a little bit? It's Sunday and I have a lot of chores to do. You can make yourself feel comfortable on the couch. Watch some movies or something. Take things from the fridge - although I think the potato salad is already spoiled - and stay put."
I settled the fondant cake on the kitchen counter which was cluttered with knives, spoons, and . "Oh, it's okay. Can I help you out?"
Sumire smiled at the sight of the delectable dessert and grabbed an apron from the shelf. She tossed it to me and I caught it with surprising agility as the flairtender that I was. It occurred to me that she wanted me to cook - based on experiences, both firsthand and secondhand, I found out that women liked men who had competence in culinary arts. Males often used that to their advantage in romance, but I rationalized that I was doing only this for Sumire's friendship.
Friendship. Right.
Good thing Sumire wasn't the kind of girl who kept flowery aprons. I tied the strings of the apron into a tight knot and glanced at the checkered design on the thin cloth. "What's the menu for today?"
"Anything you like, as long as you can cook it without poisoning me," Sumire giggled, taking the broom from the slightly dusty closet. She started sweeping the floor but she paused, looking back at me. "On second thought, whip something up that's fit for a movie marathon."
One thing I learned about her: she was a movie fanatic. I didn't believe that my eyes, with 20-20 vision, missed the sight of her humongous movie collection by the door.
"What's the genre of the movie, then?"
She laughed wholeheartedly. It was nice seeing her smile without a care about the world, unlike her demeanor during the early hours of Saturday evening. "Let's go with action. Unless you want to watch chick flicks..."
As I turned the electric stove on, I craned my neck to see her sweeping inside the cupboard. She poked her head out just in time to see me stick my tongue out at her. Sumire responded with an invisible kiss.
Minutes passed before the situation finally sunk into my mind: I didn't know what to cook. I wasn't exactly the best chef there was in town, and the only meals I thought were adequate for movie dates - in our case it was a friendly movie date - were hamburgers.
As if my plan was predetermined by fate, four burger patties were sandwiched between raw chicken wings inside the freezer. Sumire had a meager amount of food left in the refrigerator, and I doubt that it was even a week's supply. From then on I was certain that I needed to work harder in the grocery store and display commendable employee performance in order to get a raise in my salary. I didn't need the money that much, since my dad was depositing a reasonable portion of his pension into my bank account. On the other hand, Sumire was obviously lacking financial support.
Keeping your head up in the clouds - or just thinking about irrelevant things - was a really terrible idea. For me, it was more than terrible - the patties were burned like charcoal bits and a bit of smoke was rising from the pan. Another mistake I made - I panicked, got a bucket of tap water, and threw the content into the pan.
I ended up concocting a burned patty soup. Well, I definitely had no future in the food business.
Constructive criticism is very much welcome!
