Prescription for Miss Walker

We gathered our clothes by the sofa, putting them on slowly. Ash was done before I was and sat down, his eyes floating over every inch of my body. I considered doing a little sexy dance for him, but dismissed the idea when I remembered how high his sex drive was.

So, instead I just got changed and joined him.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, turning on the television. His stare was powerful. "What? It's just... normally you're gone by now."

Was that sadness that crept into my tone right there? I wasn't sad, so why did I make it sound like I was?

"I'd like to stick around, if that's okay with you." He spoke slowly, carefully, as if I'd accuse him of spying on me if he said it any other way.

I shrugged.

"Sure, but when will you need to go home?"

I hadn't even noticed he'd taken the remote from me, as we were now on a news channel. It's strange how he was commandeering the T.V. when it was my house. Even weirder? I was letting him.

His arm wound round the neck of the sofa, inches from my own. If he wanted to hug me, he could. I wasn't going to lie, he was like a memory foam mattress.

"I don't. She thinks I'm at a meeting in Seattle, I said I'd be there for a day or two."

I couldn't help it, suddenly I felt like a three year old being given a candy bar.

"So, you want to stay the night? I could make us dinner." I buried my face into the crook of his neck, grinning again when he sighed.

"You can cook?"

"I don't like to brag, but I make a mean cheese hoagie." He laughed with me, saying he'd make dinner instead. I didn't object.

I followed him to the counter as he rifled through the fridge, emerging with a handful of vegetables and some chicken. He then proceeded to prepare it, hands moving fast and fluidly.

"You're quite the little chef, aren't you?" I hopped myself up on the end of the island, attention wavering between his perfect face and motion-defying hands.

"I know a thing or two."

Maybe this was a chance to get to know him better, a gateway to more information. I swung my legs back and forth as he handed me a few diced cucumber.

I nibbled it, knowing swallowing it was going to be hard.

"Do you cook at home?"

His face contorted. Perhaps he didn't like the way I said it. Very casual.

But he answered, which was nice of him, I guess.

"Sometimes. If I'm working late, usually it's made and cooled from the fridge." He sprinkled some salt into my frying pan, throwing the onions in first. "Don't you have any pepper?"

"No. When did you learn?"

"You don't have pepper... How...?" His thoughts continued elsewhere, as he waited a few more minutes before putting everything else in. The smell hit me immediately -- it surely was mouthwatering.

"My dad let me watch him. He'd let me read books and add flavourings, then over time he'd be the one overlooking me. We barely ever got on, but cooking was a passion we shared together. It was just the two of us." He smiled softly, rattling the pan.

Did I dare ask?

"What about your mom? Where was she when you were learning all of this?"

He stopped for a second, then continued. It wasn't long before he went into another cupboard and got out my tortillas. He filled them all up with the ingredients evenly. Two each.

I was about to hop down from the counter, when his hands grasped the edge, preventing any kind of escape. His face was soft, nostalgic as he kept it close to mine. Not close enough to kiss me, but just enough for me to scrutinise every detail for what it was.

"She was a kind woman, a little naive, but nice. She died before I was a teenager. You remind me of her a little, actually."

Well, that's a little gross, I thought.

Clearly my thoughts had made way onto my face, as he chuckled and fondled my knees softly. It tickled.

"Not in a horrible way. You just... You have that spark, you know? That thing that seems to interest me. I saw it in my mother every day, now it's in you too."

Pecking me lightly on the nose, he backed off and took his plate with him to the couch. Biting my lip and grabbing my own, I did what I could to disregard the odd feeling in my stomach.

But it continued to stay.

Dinner was nice (or what I managed to consume of it, anyway) and Ash and I spoke more than we had in a while, since the night we played two truths and a lie. I didn't want to ask him any more personal questions for the night, but he'd made no such promise to me.

He recalled that morning perfectly too, as his enquiry had me reeling.

"So, I looked further into you, for medical purposes I swear." He held his hand up in defence as I mock-glared at him. "And I'm a little confused. Who pays for this studio if you don't have a job?"

I almost choked on my food, but I gave out a cough anyway. Surely that meant he knew?

I'd been asked this many times but now, coming from him, it hit me harder than any other. I didn't know why, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to find out -- just that when it came from him, I began to ache.

Despite not having solid, concrete evidence... I knew who paid the bills. I knew who wrote to me every month.

But that didn't mean he should.

"A friend." I suddenly came out with. Unable to meet his eyes, I rambled on. "Someone I've known for a while. They're pretty successful and promised to help me get by with no return favors."

Which was odd. Extremely, in this case.

But Ash just nodded, chowing down on his food like he were a ravenous beast. I smiled as I watched him, the panic in me slowly disappearing. I had nothing to fear, he wasn't the kind to press.

So, instead of prying out where he actually got the information, I nibbled on my fajita. Flavors bursting in my mouth I believed I'd never tasted before.

I tucked my legs under me, ate what I could and rested up against him.

Because who knew if it's all I would get.