Breton answered my question with a question. “Were you ever scared? Thinking of all the possibilities? Every possible thing you might have to save me from?”
“Yeah, a lot.” I answered honestly, remembering the nightmares I had for the first couple of days. “I had nightmares, but after I met you they went away. Well, after I got to know you.”
“Did you know,” Breton cleared his throat, “Did you know my dad didn’t actually want you to save me?”
I gaped. “What?”
“He didn’t. He, well he knew something was wrong with me. My personality, it changed. I know Peter told you that much, so I’ll skip the details. Dad, he wanted me to get help. A therapist, a doctor, the school guidance counselor, something. I told him no, no way was I going to spill my problems to some random stranger who gets paid for it.
“That’s why he found you.” He laughed humorlessly. “A random stranger who wouldn’t get paid. His idea of a loophole, I suppose. But he never thought in a million years that you would take him seriously. He was desperate, didn’t think of the consequences.
“When we showed up at your house that night for dinner, he realized exactly what he had done. How he accidentally got you involved in something that wasn’t important at all to anyone outside the family. I guess he just didn’t know how to tell you, so he said nothing.
“A few weeks ago, when I read your book for the first time, the one you named, I showed it to my dad. He was stunned that someone would care that much about a stranger. He was touched that someone would care that much about his son.
“And he still didn’t know how to tell you that it wasn’t actually meant to be you, that it wasn’t actually meant be be anything. So he didn’t. I knew all of this too, but I didn’t say anything to you either. Some days I hate myself because of that, others I think it’s the best thing I ever did.”
“Why are you telling me now?” I asked quietly.
“Because, Georgie. I know exactly what I need saving from.”
I waited in silence, feeling like this dramatic pause was taking longer than necessary.
“Well?” I finally said. “Are you going to tell me?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Because you already know. You’ve got the right idea Georgie. I mean, what you’re doing, it’s working. I’m not… I’m Breton again, not the bad boy.” He looked at me, a soft emotion shining in his eyes. “Thank you.”
“It’s not a problem,” I assured him, grinning. “I’m really glad I can help.”
“Me too,” he joked. Laughing, I pulled him up.
“Come on. We need to go get some pie, or a malt, or something,” I insisted.
“Why?” he asked, following me obediently.
“We’re celebrating!” I cried, flinging open the front door and pulling him out and over to his driveway where his car sat.
As soon as we got in the car, I had a thought. “I shut the door right? Yeah, I did. Wait, do I have my keys?” Patting my pockets, I found them empty. “Nope. Okay. Well, we’re locked out now, Breton, so you have to take me somewhere.”
“Gladly. You wanted a malt?” He expertly backed out of the driveway and began to drive to the nearest malt shop. At least, I assumed that was where we were headed.
“Yes, please! It’s a celebration food.”
“And what are we celebrating?” Quickly, he looked over at my with a curious smile, trying not to take his eyes off the road for long.
“I finally know what I’m saving you from! Obviously, Breton. Keep up!” I shoved him lightly, smiling widely.
“This is actually such a relief you know,” I told him. “I was worried I would fail the operation. I’d be branded as a failure and tossed out of the operation club, never to have a career in spying. And if I can’t get a job as a spy, I would never be able to support my future family. And if I can’t support my future family, we’ll be out on the streets. And if we’re out on the streets we’ll be cold in the winter, and have no money for medicine. We’d probably be able to perform various chores and earn enough money combined to pay for food, but not enough for everyone to be healthy. And if we aren’t healthy, we’ll die sooner than the average human being. And when I die, I won’t have any grandchildren, because my children will die with me because of being malnourished, even though I would of course give them all of my food portion except the bare minimum needed for me to survive.
“Also, living on the streets leaves us with a higher chance of turning to horrible methods to gain money, such as stealing or mugging. Which could lead to jail, if we don’t die of malnutrition. And if we live, we go to jail, where we will probably die of malnutrition anyway.
“It’s a horrible, vicious ending either way. And all because I failed my operation, and was kicked out of the club.” Dramatically, I leaned my head against the window with a sigh.
“Good thing I didn’t fail though!” I happily announced, popping my head back up. “Because that means my future family and I won’t die on the streets or in jail because of malnutrition.”
“Oh, Georgie,” Breton laughed, “I love you.”
“Thanks Breton!” I chirped. Then I thought about it. “You know, I love you too.”
“Oh, really? You sound a bit unsure.” His voice wobbled, then straightened.
“I’m sure.” I scrunched my nose and nodded sharply.
Breton cleared his throat, and we didn’t talk for the rest of the ride. Thankfully, we pulled up only seconds later, so it wasn’t actually that big of a deal, or things would’ve gotten awkward. I don’t do well with silence.
“Trunks?” I read the sign aloud as we stood in front of the place. “What is this place?”
“The best ice cream parlor in town,” Breton told me, holding the door for me as we walked inside. “Weird name, great malts.”
“I’m trusting you,” I said, walking past him. “Thanks for holding the door.”
“No problem.”
Only a few minutes later, we were sitting in a booth. Despite the name, Trunks was a cozy little place, with nice wallpaper and decorations. I looked around, feeling comfortable and welcome, like this wasn’t just a ice cream parlor, but a some. There was just something about the environment…
“Hey, what can I get ya’ll to start with today?” a waitress asked, standing in front of our table. She was older, mid-forties at least.
Breton looked over at me, and I returned the look with a shrug. “I’ve never been here before,” I said. “You order.”
“Can we get a basket of fries-“ he started, but I but him off.
“Onion rings. It smells like onion rings in here, really good onions rings.”
“-And a basket of onion rings,” Breton added. “What do you recommend for malts?”
“Well, the strawberry’s my favorite, but this gal over here looks more like a chocolate person to me,” the lady said. “I’d go with whatever. They’re all delicious and handmade. We can give you big take-home cups for whatever extras you have, and they’re pretty well priced, so if you get a few different flavors it won’t make much of a dent in the wallet.”
“Why not? We’re celebrating. So, the fries and rings, and then a strawberry malt for myself and…” Breton turned to look at me questioningly.
“Chocolate for me please!”
“And a chocolate for the lady,” he finished, looking back at the waitress with a smile. “Thank you.”
“Coming right up,” she replied, marking our order down on her notepad and walking away, where, to my astonishment, she began making our meal.
“She runs this whole place herself?” I asked Breton, leaning closer so she didn’t overhear.
He frowned in thought. “I guess I never really thought about it, but the other few times I’ve been here it’s just her working.”
“What does she do on busy days?” I wondered. Breton shrugged. “Do you think she’s hiring?” He shrugged again. “You’re going to get a shoulder cramp,” I remarked. Guess what the little twerp did?
“Your fries and onion rings are ready,” the kind lady who ran the shop told us, coming over holding two baskets of steamy hot, greasy food, as well as plates.
“Thank you!” I said cheerfully, grabbing the baskets from her hands.
“Your malts will be ready in just a moment. Takes a little longer to mix for just the right flavor. Sorry for the wait,” she apologized.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” Breton assured her.
“Do you run this place on your own?” I piped up.
“Yeah. It used to be my husband and I, but we divorced a while back for reasons I can’t even remember anymore. I kept the place for the memories. Not much income, but it’s enough for me to get by,” she divulged.
“And the name? It’s…different…for an ice cream place,” I commented.
She chuckled. “It used to be called ‘The Scoop’. Before the divorce, during one of our fights, my husband told me to pack up my trunks and go. I told him I wasn’t leaving this place. In the end, he left, and I renamed my beloved ice cream parlor ‘Trunks’.”
I was enthralled. “Are you looking for workers? I mean, would you be interested in hiring me? Sorry, what I’m trying to say is, can I work here?”
“Hold that thought, sweets,” she replied. “Your drinks are done mixing.”
I exchanged a glance with Breton, who smiled at me. Happily, I returned the gesture.
~~
*This author's note is going to be filled with 100% information.* There's only a few chapters left, about 4-5 probably! I'm not even close to my NaNoWriMo goal, but I'm writing all night and all of tomorrow, so hopefully I'll actually finish this story by the first of December! Wouldn't that be awesome?
Tomorrow (Nov. 30th) is the one year and one month birthday of 45 Days to Save the Bad Boy! In honor of the day, I'm going to be trying to finish the story, because that's when it was supposed to be finished a year ago! XD I'd love for you guys to recommend the story and spread the word to your friends, so we can try and get 45 Days from 507,538 reads to a higher number! (I don't even have a particular goal, it's so crazy the reads are even that high! Thank you guys so much!)
Also, as we get further into December, I'm going to be writing less. My family is always crazy busy when it becomes the holiday season. I would apologize, but.... well you got at least four updates this month so I think you can wait next month. ;)
Comment and let me know what you think of the chapter! Don't forget to vote if you like it!
P.S. A malt is a milkshake, with just an added ingredient of malted milk powder.