Gifted Connections 3 - Page 22

and you know I can’t damage these beautiful throwing hands with dirty dishwater.

They have a dishwasher, I responded wryly.

I chose to block him from further conversation. He was going to be impatiently waiting for my return now. He had zero patience.

“He couldn’t hear you,” I informed Jace. “I know when I first started talking to him it was only on occasion. Especially when I was scared or anxious. Since then, I can communicate with him whenever I want to. Maybe you need to keep on practicing.” I theorized.

“I tried to talk to Drake,” Remy shook his head frowning. “He didn’t respond either. I think this way of communicating is only open when you’re involved. Although maybe with practice we can talk to each other…”

“Okay let’s try it,” Jace nodded.

How did you learn about this new…trick? Remy teased.

I couldn’t stop the blush that came on my cheeks. Drake thought something earlier, and I could hear him. He didn’t realize he had projected his thoughts to me. I hedged.

Jace chuckled. You seem more relaxed and less stressed. I wasn’t aware cooking did that for you.

I crossed my arms across my chest. Maybe after weeks of not being able to, it can be a stress reliever. I said tartly. They were just trying to get a rise out of me.

That’s it. Remy growled. I’m learning how to cook more than eggs, steaks, and anything else that can be cooked on the grill.

I couldn’t help the burst of laughter from my mouth. I covered my mouth. Knock it off!

Never! They both responded simultaneously.

I immediately put up my barriers ending the discussion. “Conversation closed,” I smiled smugly.

They both gave me knowing grins. We were silent for a moment, deep in our own thoughts as we loaded up the trays with the rest of the glasses and dishes.

“This can really come in handy,” Jace murmured as he pulled the door down on the dishwasher. “Especially for this upcoming week.”

“It’s something we should work on,” Remy agreed.

“We need to let the others know when we return to the apartment. Did we get everything we needed for our adventure?” I asked them, recalling that they had finished packing our rucksacks.

“And then some,” Jace nodded. “We should be able to stay out there for at least a week. Although it should take us that long to make our way back.”

When we returned to the room, I stopped short in the doorway, noticing a transformation had occurred to our living and dining room area in the time I had been out. The ugly brown and yellow plaid couch and love seat were now covered in attractive slate grey slipcovers. Three natural, beige reclining chairs were situated between the love seat and couch. Now there was enough seating for everyone and a couple guest.

An empty white cubicle shelving unit was assembled behind the love seat against the wall. A faux fur cream rug covered the VCT tiles in the center of the room with a slate gray ottoman in the middle of it.

Behind the couch was an array of pictures with black frames and white matting surrounding the pictures. On closer inspection, I saw pictures of all my family and friends. There were pictures of Jemmy and the boys when they were younger. There was even a picture of all of us before the obstacle course race over a month ago. Tears sprung to my eyes as I noticed pictures of me and my siblings sprinkled throughout them.

There weren’t many pictures of me after my uncle had been murdered. All the albums of him and me were ‘lost’ in the move to Heidi’s mom’s trailer. I was thankful for Jemmy and Troy’s insistence of taking pictures all the time. Pictures were captured moments our minds sometimes forgot. They helped you recall the exact instant the picture was taken. The sounds. The smells. The feelings.

I stopped to look at a picture of me and Micah standing behind the stove. We were still dressed in our pajamas. Ella was sitting on her knees on a bar stool at the island patiently taking the stems off the strawberries I had given her. She was still dressed in her pajamas, her hair a beautiful mess. Alex was standing on a stool laughing as he pointed at Micah with a whisk. His curly black hair was in disarray. He was shirtless (he had given up shirts to sleep in because Jaxson didn’t wear one, his idol) and had on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.

I had been teaching Micah how to make pancakes. It had been on one of those lazy Sunday mornings. I could remember the smell of the batter as it hit the griddle. I could recollect the way Ella’s little tongue stuck out when she concentrated. I recalled the sound of Alex’s carefree laughter. I just didn’t remember that candid shot being taken or who took it. It was beautifully simple.

I turned away trying to hide my tears. The old, wooden, worn out kitchen table now had a cream woven runner in the center. They even added a center piece of two hurricane lamps with candles in them, flanking an antique looking white pitcher with white hydrangeas in them. Slate grey cushions were added to the hard-woode

n chairs.

Noah came out of his room with a crestfallen expression on his face a lamp in his hands. “Aww man!” he exclaimed. “That wasn’t long enough! Why didn’t you call?”

Jemmy and Rachel came out of Jace and Remy’s rooms with more art work. “Drake!” Jemmy yelled stamping her feet. “You had one job!” She held up her pointer finger at him.

“Our phones didn’t have any reception,” Drake frowned with a look of disappointment.

Tags: S.M. Olivier Gifted Connections Fantasy
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