The Last Boss' Daughter

"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.