Just Add Walter

01 | Natural Disaster

Dedicated to readingchocolate for being immensely supportive (and for her awesome butt-kicking skillz).

The song 'Something in the Water' by The Jealous Girlfriends and a picture of Wren (aka Melissa Benoist) in the media bar.

   

01 | Natural Disaster

    

It never rained in Tierra del Sol, California – literally the name meant land of the sun – but when it did, disaster struck.

Today, it was raining cats, dogs, elephants and hippopotamuses – hippopotami? – and, little did I know, disaster came neatly wrapped in a package of chestnut brown hair, piercing brown eyes and unquestionable god-like hotness.

“Hi,” the epitome of smoking-hot-male-teenage-perfection said with a smile, “is this seat taken?”

Looking back, I should have said 'Why, yes. That seat is indeed taken. My invisible – but very large and very scary – alien friend, Tamron V20P, who's visiting from the planet Gargulon was sitting there. He just went to the bathroom. But if he sees you in his chair when he comes back, he's going to beat you to a pulp.'

This, of course, was my sputtering-girl-in-the-presence-of-a-hot-guy reply:

“N-no.”

Flashing another dangerous smile, The Devil slid into the seat across from me. “So,” he started, crossing his arms in front of him. “Are you waiting for someone?”

After a slight hesitation, I nodded.

“Boyfriend?”

I shook my head.

He smirked. “So you're single?”

“Hey.” I pursed my lips reflexively. “Just 'cause you're not waiting for a boyfriend doesn't mean you're single.”

His smirk grew even wider. “But you are single right?”

Relentless.

It was one of his many character traits that would eventually be my downfall.

I nodded with a very resigned sigh.

“Perfect.”

The Devil smiled like he'd just been told the apocalypse was a success.

Taking off his leather jacket – nothing less than designer labels for the Lord of the Underworld – he picked up the laminated menu that had been resting on the table. He tapped his perfectly sculpted fingers against the table and zeroed in on the menu.

I, in turn, studied him.

Either he didn't notice my eyes boring into him from across the table or he just didn't really care if I stared – or if anyone else stared, for that matter. Every other female in the diner – appropriately aged or otherwise – had their eyes on him.

The third possibility, and this was most likely true, was that he was just used to people staring at him. Living life looking like he did, he just had to be.

“So what's good here?” he asked after a minute or two.

“The fries?” I hedged. “I think they have really good fries.”

One of his eyebrows went up. “You think?”

“I don't come out often,” I shrugged.

He frowned. “You mean you don't come here often,” he suggested.

“No,” I said slowly – and maybe a bit louder than I needed to. He may be gorgeous as hell but he was either really deaf or really stupid. “I said I don't come out often.”