All characters are at least 18 years old.
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Hank
I squinted at Lexi. "What? You?"
She tilted her head, smiling earnestly, pleasantly. As if she had done Jean a great service and was just happy to see her good deeds come to fruition. And it was pissing me off.
"But why?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "She was behind on rent. And also, nobody gets in the way of what I want."
I glared at her, and she watched me impassively. Her blonde locks were shading her face, lending a beguiling air to her demeanor. "I don't believe you," I finally decided, and she broke into a genuine laugh.
"Ironic. Truthfully, I haven't lied to you. Not once, which for me is a rare thing." She straightened up and stretched her arms above her, slightly lifting the hem of her sweater to give a glimpse of the creamy skin underneath. "Anyway, I should get going before she comes back. Don't fret, professor. I was just checking up on you two." She gave me a finger wave as she walked away.
Most would probably feel threatened after that exchange, and for good reason. Yet I was left puzzled. I just had this gut feeling that things weren't as she said. Either way, Jean was staying with me now. The amount of torment Lexi could inflict was more limited in the current situation, or so I hoped. She could just suddenly decide she was fed up and expose me, but I had her pegged for a practical person. Ruining me wouldn't get her what she wanted.
You never knew with teenage girls, though.
"Prof!"
I almost jumped out of my skin before turning to look at Jean. She was back, waving a can of cranberry sauce in front of her face. "Oh. Great, you found it."
"You okay? You looked really out of it." She put the can in the cart and leaned on the side, almost exactly like how Lexi had.
"Yeah, sorry. Just thinking of how to prep the chicken," I chuckled, shaking my head. "I'll be honest, this'll be my first time making Thanksgiving dinner in its entirety. I usually go home for the holiday, so..."
"But do you help with the cooking?"
I blew out a breath. "Wow, it's been years. Not since high school, maybe even earlier."
"Wait, so I have more experience than you?" She flashed a toothy grin, a goading brow raised.
I chuckled once, pushing the cart down the aisle and forcing her to walk with me. "Don't get a big head now, missy. I cook normal meals just fine, I'm only talking about Thanksgiving dinner. Besides, this is precisely why you've been recruited to help."
"Aye aye, cap'n," she laughed.
As we turned into the main aisle, I looked behind me, catching a single glimpse of honey-blonde hair disappearing behind a shelf.
--
The afternoon was filled with the aromas of food, watching cooking tutorials online, and light-hearted fun. I put on some light music I liked from my teenage years, and Jean teased me for being old. I retaliated with a flick of mashed candied yams, nailing her right on the cheek. She giggled before wiping it off and sucking it off her finger. Yet for some reason, my mind stayed out of the gutter. I just let myself enjoy it, this atmosphere of innocent togetherness. Yes, I wanted to steer things away from the sexual, to make clear to Jean that she was more to me than some ass. But it also came naturally; the two of us just enjoying each other's company. Us getting chicken grease everywhere. Her waving a dozen cloves of garlic under my nose. Me feeding her a heaping spoonful of cranberry sauce.
It felt like something we both sorely needed. It felt like home.
When everything was finally in the oven, we threw ourselves on the couch and just relaxed. We were sat on opposite ends, leaning against the arm rests, enjoying the moment.