𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 11: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘐𝘖'𝘴 𝘙𝘪𝘯𝘨

The next morning, I didn't have to sneak. I could get up and shower, take my time using the toilet and brushing my teeth without a single worry. When I flushed, I didn't cringe and stop to listen if I'd woken Charlie. I just spun on my heel and strode back downstairs to gather my things for the day. As I descended the stairs, I skipped steps like a little girl playing hopscotch. A silly smile worked its way onto my face. Usually, I'd swallow it down immediately. Knock it back like a shot and suffer the sharp tang in the back of my throat. But not today. Today I let the smile climax. I could feel myself sparkling as I slid down the slick wood floor straight down the hall into the kitchen.

"Good morning to you too," Charlie laughs from the stove.

She lifts her head and shoots me an amused glance. My smile slips and I duck my head bashfully. Charlie starts up again, shaking her head at me and goes back to whatever it is she's up to. Curious, I skate forward and lean over the counter. Charlie pushes something around an iron skillet with a spatula. A lovely, warm steam wafts off the stove and embraces my senses. Sighing, I inhale the scent and throw my head back. If there were a breakfast heaven, it would smell like this. Eggs...bacon - no, sausages. There's a distinct spice that's definitely a sausage, patty or roll, I'm not sure, but who cares? It smells amazing.

Lost in the smell, I don't realize my eyes have fallen closed until two plates are roughly set onto the counter in front of me. My eyes fly open and drop to the steaming dishes.

"Wow," I blurt, already drooling.

Charlie chuckles. "Good thing we made up huh?"

"Damn straight," I agree.

Charlie prods the plates closer to the seating on the other side of the counter and then steps around to sit. We move in sync, dragging out two stools and then mounting them eagerly. Brilliant, blessed Charlie has already laid a fork and knife on each of our plates.

With the edge of my knife, I nudge some eggs onto my fork and before I stuff my mouth full say, "Thanks."

"Oh no problem," Charlie replies and takes a bite of her sausage. She chews, pensively and cocks her head to the side. "I was worried, you know," She begins. I raise a brow and turn her way, munching on a slice of buttered toast. "When you kept slipping out before I woke up, I thought you were walking to campus, but Goose kindly told me Maverick had you covered..."

She makes it sound so simple, my RIO breathes.

Because it is.

An objective scoff rolls off her tongue. Simple? Maybe. But platonic?

Knowing that there's no winning this debate, I shrug my RIO off and swallow my food. Once she gets something in her head, it's like pulling teeth to get it out. Growing up on a farm teaches you how to handle stubbornness in animals and people. As the warm, munched toast warms my throat, I'm reminded of my dad's old mare. Miss Flea, or so we called her. The boys - my brothers - wanted to call her Fleabag because of all the bugs that followed her around the pasture, but my dad had taken to the bag of bones and only allowed Flea. I bite my lip, careful to hide my smile. My dad always had a soft spot for outcasts like ol' Flea.

But his taste never failed.

Flea was great while she lasted.

More loyal than any dog, sweeter than any bunny.

All of a sudden I notice Charlie's knowing eyes on me and I clear my throat abruptly. "Yeah," I finally reply. "Maverick had me covered."

"Good."