Made With Love ✔

Chapter 9: Baby Steps

----Lance's POV:

Once Vanessa was back to sleep, I sat at my desk trying to get some coursework done. But after 10 minutes, I was too distracted by the faint, delicate snoring coming from Vanessa. I wanted to know more about her, but I couldn't just ask her "Tell me about you." I quietly slipped out of my room and into hers. Walking to her desk, I saw a memo board stuck with reminders about choir rehearsals, labs, papers, and cupcake orders. On her nightstand was a book, Life in the Fat Lane by Cherie Bennett. Her bookmark was page 40. I opened the drawer and saw a collection of Sarah Dessen and Meg Cabot books.

I walked to her closet and found size 8 and 10 clothes. It was arranged by season, color, and occasion. In the business casual section, I saw blazers, button down shirts in neutral colors, and dress pants. It felt like an invasion of privacy, looking at her closet, so I closed it and moved on to her bookshelf on the other side of the bed. I found romance novels, teen fiction novels, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Suzanne Collins, Pittacus Lore, and other science-fiction novels. But the romance section was the largest. That made me wonder if she really liked romance novels or were they a distraction from something else. I heard her move in the bed, so I hurried back to my desk. She was still asleep when I at my desk, so I focused on a lab sheet and got that done.

"Who's gonna make dinner?" I heard her whisper from the bed. I got up and walked to her side.

"I can carry you to the table and you can give me directions. Hamilton won't be home until 8 pm, though." I replied, having already memorized my friend's schedule.

"Are you sure I'm not too heavy? I do weigh-" I cut her off before she could utter another depressing word about her weight.

I sit down on the bed, her leg pressing against my side. I tilt her face so her eyes were at level with mine.

"Vanessa. Contrary to what your mother says, you are not fat and you don't need to lose weight. You are beautiful just the way you are, with your curves. Seriously, you feel light in my arms." I replied, my lips mere inches away from hers.

"I weigh 125 pounds. How could I be light?" She mumbled, her eyes making me melt.

"125 pounds. And you're about 5' 4''. That's just right. Not overweight, not obese, definitely not fat." I whispered, wondering how she could even think that.

"But I have such a huge waist!" She wailed, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

"You look beautiful with your curves and don't let anyone tell you otherwise," I assured her, taking a chance and kissing her forehead.

Her mouth eyes looked up at me in surprise.

"Was that too soon?" I asked, worried that she was uncomfortable.

"No. No one's ever done that." She mumbled.

"Not even your dad?" I inquired incredulously.

"No. My dad hardly ever smiles, let alone kiss my forehead. I've seen him smile on my birthdays, graduation, and when he makes a good business deal. Even when I was younger, whenever I had a meltdown, he would disappear." She answered, her face turning sad.

"Oh. Well, I better get you to the kitchen." I said, getting up and picking her up.

When I sat her down, she winced.

"Did I put you down on the wrong side?" I asked worriedly.

"No, the bruise on my rib hurts every time I move that area. No big deal." She shrugged, already looking towards the pantry.

She instructed me to get certain ingredients from the fridge and pantry. She led me through the process of making enchiladas. After about 30 minutes of mixing stuff together, I plated 4 enchiladas, 2 for each of us, and brought them to the table. I had put her on a chair on the 2-person side so that I could sit next to her.