After the fourth episode, Reilly looked up at the sleeping Blake and wondered about supper. She couldn't let him buy food again, and she could definitely not afford to get take-out. She was planning on living on toast and coffee. She fiddled with the money in her pocket before deciding to get up and sneak out. She was going to cook supper.
She made her way to the closest grocery store and walked up and down each aisle. It was then that she realised how sheltered her life was. For years she had no interest in cooking, choosing to read instead. Now she found herself faced with the task to cook. Not only for herself, but for a man.
She tried to remember what her mom usually cooked. Tried to recall the recipes she used. There was nothing. Then she thought about her childhood when her dad still cooked occasionally. Well, every other week rather than occasionally. It was the only dish he could cook. Or the only dish her mom allowed him to cook.
Walking past the pasta aisle it caught her eye. Spaghetti. Of course. The only pasta meal they were allowed. She grabbed a packet and went in search of the other ingredients. When she was satisfied with everything Reilly went to the tills and checked it out. Flinching as she paid the cashier an obscene amount of money for a meal for two.
Reilly was excited to cook by herself for the first time. But, when she walked into the motel room the nervousness hit her, what if she burnt down the building? Blake was still sleeping and Reilly tiptoed to the kitchen unpacking quietly. The paper bags crinkled loudly with each movement. Before the last box hit the counter, Blake was up and staring at her in amusement.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm making supper?"
"Are you telling me or asking me?"
"I'm making supper," Reilly said more confidently.
"Why?" Blake responded cocking his head to the side.
"Why don't you stop asking questions, go wash your hands, and help me," she said, deflecting. Knowing in her heart of hearts that she will never admit the real reason for why. To his credit, he did what she said and moved to stand next to Reilly, awaiting his instructions.
Neither of them spoke, they chopped up the vegetables, put the spaghetti on to boil and prepared the meatballs- all in perfect collaboration with each other. Like they have been cooking together for years.
When everything was on the stove boiling and frying, they stood back and looked at their handiwork. With proud smiles on their faces, they turned to each other.
"We did it," Reilly whispered to Blake, her eyes twinkling.
"Well, it's not finished yet," he says shrugging.
"Don't be such a pessimist," she laughed punching him in the arm playfully. A dark look came over Blakes' face as he caught her hand. Fear, anger and then relief raked through his body before he dropped her hand and walked away.
"Blake?"
"Just drop it, Reilly," he muttered, "go watch your food, I'm going out."
With that, he turned around and left. Leaving Reilly standing in the middle of the room wondering what the hell just happened? In confusion cradling the hand he squeezed, to her body, he clearly doesn't know his strength.
Blake ran down the stairs and burst through the motel door, not caring who saw him. He stormed off to the nearest bar and sat down, staring at the drink he ordered, his head turning with angry thoughts. They were having so much fun, then he ruined it by reacting to a playful punch. He couldn't control his reaction. The past is still controlling him. That's why he's angry.
"Give me another," he grunts in the direction of the bartender, swallowing the golden liquid in one gulp, before pushing the glass away. He swallowed another six drinks before gaining the courage to walk back to the motel, his heart heavy.
Reilly was writing on her couch when he returned, two plates set on the table, covered with pot lids.
"Do you want to eat?" she asked without looking up from her laptop.
"I'm not hungry," Blake grumbled before falling onto the bed, starting a new movie on his laptop.
Reilly looked up then and frowned at him, willing her heart to return from where it settled in her shoes, then said:
"It's in the fridge when you're ready," she whispered as she got up and put it in the fridge.
"Don't bother," he threw back. Reilly ignored it and sat by the table, picking at her food. They made a good team, it actually tastes pretty decent. She just wasn't feeling it because of that man-child laying in his bed. Why did he react like that? Where did he disappear to? Why is he so rude now? Why does she even care?