~Darryl's POV~
Way no. 1
Distraction.
Of course, in no way do I want to forget Zak. He has an importance in my life in a way no one could ever dream of replacing. But I needed to forget what happened - my feelings. It wasn't healthy and I couldn't handle the rejection. I didn't look too into how to handle the heartbreak, so I using my own homemade method.
I found the opportunity perfect when Vincent offered me company. Once the Sun was high and shining, I get changed into more convenient clothes and sling my backpack over my shoulder so I wouldn't have to carry the clothes I was picking up.
Without saying goodbye to my parents, I leave the house and walk through town to the restaurant. On my way, I have an odd sensation in my heart. It was like the sensation I experienced when with Zak, but this time I felt a lot more angsty. I was expecting something out of today. Hoping that maybe after this, I could put my feelings aside and think of Zak like how he thinks of me.
I had a lot of time to self reflect on my walk to the restaurant. The usual chirp of the usual street folks returned and I tried to savor every bit of it. Admire what you can - the well-watered, healthy green plants, the children who ran around without caring or worrying about anyone else's opinion of them, the birds singing their sweet morning melodies - all of it helped my mind move on. Helped to distract me.
Today was about me and making sure that party wouldn't rain on my spirits. I tried my best to become as interactive as possible, smiling constantly, waving at people who looked in my direction, and overall trying to come off as bubbly as I possibly could. With this, I receive lots of smiles back.
When I finally make my way to the restaurant, I smile, looking up at the 'open' sign.
Way no. 2
Rebound.
I open the door and there's much more of a bustle in the restaurant right now than there was last night. I catch a few stares, but it's typical when the door's bell chimes and curious kids want to see who's coming through. I know the owners and the staff of the place so I help myself in at the back. Sure, it's employees only but I was always an exception. From the apron hook, I take my clothes back and stuff it into my backpack.
I exit through the back door and through the connector, I'm knocking at the back door of Vincent's house. I stand around for a few moments until I notice the knob start to turn. I shift around, and as the door creeks open I meet with the person who's going to help me get over my feelings. Vincent!
He has a wide smile as he leads me inside. It's obvious he's trying not to smile so wide, he tries things like biting it down but it doesn't work. For some reason, it makes me feel very appreciated.
Spread wide across his table is ingredients for what we're baking. It sorted dry and wet ingredients on opposite sides of the table. There were things I was familiar with. Sugar, flour, chocolate chips, so on. It didn't seem like we were making brownies since there was no cocoa powder. Or cookies since there was no brown sugar.
"What are we making?"
Vince is still smiling - I can't help but wonder if it's because the kiss. He doesn't say anything about it though.
"Well," the word stretched out. "You seemed a bit bummed out yesterday. I know you love baking, so how about we bake one of you favorite things? Muffins!"
I huff a laugh before helping him behind the counter.
Way no. 3
Hobbies
This is perfect. All three ways in use at once.
I was happy, but that same angsty feeling wouldn't go away. 'If he saw how happy I am now, he'll know I'm better without him.. Without my feelings for him,' I thought. Though each waking second I thought that, the more the happiness didn't feel genuine.
He takes a whisks and bowls from under the counter and places one in front of me. He sets out a sheet of paper in front of me with paper and instructions. It looked like it had been cut out of a magazine with a preview of what the muffins would look like when the were finished. As I was scanning the paper, he had preheats the oven.
Everything had already been measured out, some in measuring cups, some in small bowls. To the side of the oven was baking trays which were already lined with muffin liners. Vincent looks back at me and grins as I'm still getting adjusted.
"You can get started, just read the instructions."
I nod.
In a large bowl, whisk together flour, salt, baking soda, baking powder. Put aside.
I pour in the flour which measures into about 300 grams. There's a lot of chocolate chips - a little more than half the amount of flour. The salt, baking powder and baking soda all sit in tiny prep bowls. It's hard to tell which is baking soda and which is baking powder, but it doesn't matter much since both go in the same bowl.
Suddenly, I feel a small weight in my shoulders. A small Yelp of surprise comes from my mouth as I turn and see Vincent, watching over my actions. "How's it going?" he asks leaning and seeing my bowl. He frowns. "You're getting done with this quick. Maybe I should've waited and let you measure this. So that this wouldn't have to go so fast," he sighs, his hands lifting from my shoulder and standing by my side so he could do his own things.
I whisk the ingredients together, folding the mixture over each other over and over until I could tell it was well combined. I look over and see Vincent, pouring in sugar and the buttermilk. He turns his head over his shoulder and sees me watching. He smiles as we make eye contact. He hands me an egg.
"Here, you work on that for now, I'll melt some butter. I was going to do it earlier but I wanted it to still be hot when you arrived."
I nod and he moves out of the way and checks inside his fridge. I walk closer to the bowl of wet ingredients, hitting the egg lightly on the countertop and pulling the now cracked shell apart so the yolk and the whites drop into the bowl.
Vincent is shuffling around behind me. I hear him rearrange and move things in his fridge until he finally finds the butter. It's hidden behind a carton of eggs. It comes in a stick and Vincent cuts it in half before throwing it in a bowl and placing it in a microwave for a minute and a half.
I take another large egg and repeat the process of hitting it against the counter and pulling the shells apart. The egg separates perfectly each time with no shell falling into the mixture.
I take the instruction pamphlet and hold it to eye level. As well as the eggs, sugar and buttermilk, I still had yet to add the butter and vanilla extract. I took and poured a dark brown liquid that stayed in one of the small prep bowls. I pour it out and it spreads across the rest of the mixture.
There's a sudden, abrupt beeping noise. I turn and see Vincent pulling the now melted butter out of the microwave. He's only using the tips of his finger to hold it and with both hands. He carries it to the counter, letting it down gently.
I move to grab and pour it. "Careful, it's hot," I nod, doing what he does and using only the tips of my finger to hold it. They turn red at the touch and I hold it over the wet ingredients in a weird angle where if I were to pour, some would drop on me. Vince notices, moves and grabs an oven mitt hung next to his fridge and takes the bowl from me.
He pours it for me, steam traveling through the air from the heat of the butter. He takes the whisk from the dry ingredients bowl and taps it lightly against the bowl, the flour falling from the small crevasses. He uses that same whisk to mix together the wet ingredients plus the sugar. It comes out to this yellowy, wet consistency.
I take the bowl of dry ingredients to hand. "Do I pour it in there?" I ask him.
He silently nods, double checking the instruction sheet. I add the dry to the wet. He pulls open a drawer and takes a rubber mixing spatula and hands it to me. We work in silence as he opens the ready oven. I fold the liquid over the dry ingredients. He's opening the oven from behind me. On the top of the stove counter lays the linings of the muffins. He grabs it and places it next to me.
Over and over I cease the batter over itself, making during to not leave any spots of flour. Once I keep repeating the cycle of folding the batter, it seems like it's completely mixed in, I hold the bowl over the baking tins. The mixture pours out and as each lining gets to 3/4 of the way full, I tilt the bowl upwards and move it to the side, pouring into the next one.
I do that until I've filled 2 tins worth and lay the bowl down. Vincent helps me transfer the batter into the oven, closing the door of the oven when I set it down next to the one he had put down.
"Done! Now we wait."
"Nice," I nod, hands moving to my pockets. "How long do you think it'll take to bake, I might take a walk real quick."
He's moving to the counter, humming. "5 minutes at this temperature. Then, we have to reduce the heat and let it rise for another 12-15 minutes. You can go ahead, it takes that amount of time plus the cooling time."
I nod, signaling a salute of goodbye. "See you later then. Be back."
I assume he nods. With that conformation, I walk out the door and once I know I'm out of the view of his house windows, I start booking it. I'll be back, but I had somewhere to go with such little time.
I had gotten over Zak's crush - or at least I felt like so did in the moment. There was only one way of finding out whether I had or not. Something small that reminded me of him, that's what I needed to do.
I was going to the graveyard.
Way no. 4
Exposure.
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Thank you for reading part 27 :)
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