"I told you I would," I tell her lightly, like it couldn't have gone any other way.
"What time is it?"
"Early. Go back to sleep."
"No, I don't wanna waste the time..."
"I've gotta get some sleep, too. I work again tonight."
Her mouth curves downward, but she curls up against my body, tucking her head under my chin, and in a couple minutes, Annabelle is asleep.
I wake up to the smell of something burning.
I jolt upward and jump out of bed, running out into the living room.
Annabelle is hunched over the pot over the fire, swearing at it. I don't do much to hide my amusement, and she glares at me over her shoulder.
"First it was too cold. It's not so easy to determine how hot it's getting over here."
I glance at the counter and see the bag of groceries has been unpacked. She carved the chicken and set out two plates. There’s a glass of juice and a bowl beside each plate.
I go over to the fire and help her with the pot. It's hot and I don't want her to burn her hands or spill it everywhere.
I pour it into the bowls anyway, but the bottom of the pot is layered with scorched soup.
"How did you burn the soup?" I ask, shaking my head. She’s shifting anxiously and I don’t want to make her feel worse, but damned if I can figure how this even happened.
"Your wood made the fire too hot," she accuses, even though that's illogical.
I wink at her. "Yeah, it did."
She narrows her eyes but smiles reluctantly. "Whatever. If it's not good, at least there’s chicken."
"I'll eat every last bite," I assure her.
"Bet you wish you had that unimpressive deli sandwich now, don't you?" she jokes.
"I can get food later; I'm more concerned about feeding you. Especially if this is how your soup turns out," I add.
"There are, like, 40 granola bars in here; I think I'll survive." She stands on one side of the counter and I stand on the other since my table isn't equipped for two diners. "This chicken smells amazing," she tells me.
I take a drink of the room-temperature juice. "I didn't know what kind of cereal you liked. I figured Corn Pops are good without milk, so...."
"A very good choice, thank you. I'm a Cinnamon Toast Crunch kind of gal, but if there's no milk, Froot Loops. What's your favorite kind of cereal?"
I smile, eyes on my plate as I spear a piece of chicken. "That's what you wanna ask me? My favorite cereal?"
"I want to ask you everything, but I have to start somewhere," she reasons.
"Raisin Bran."
"Well, I can see straight into your soul now," she replies. After a second, she asks more seriously, "How long until you have to leave?"
I check my phone and make a face. "Couple hours. Maybe three."
Annabelle sighs, but immediately brightens. "Well, we'll have to make the best of them then."
I nod in agreement. I don't want to think about tonight. Going back. No part of me wants to go, and I guess it must be because for the first time, there's a much better alternative waiting for me.