Wrong Side Of The Bed

31 | one kiss is all it takes.

JANNAT'S P.O.V

I WAS STANDING OUTSIDE the Sinclair residence, two bouquets of flowers in my arms. One look at the house had all types of embarrassing scenes running to my head - Sinclair shoving a pair of his hoodies and sweatpants in my arms, washed twice for you, he had added, and I had sheepishly accepted his clothes with a grateful smile - even though the lace was lovely, it was not suitable for wearing for a longer period of time. I had exited the room, thinking of how Sinclair's hoodie smelt of something sweet and citrus, only to find the coat that I had forgotten at the party neatly laid on the bed. I had smiled a little, touched by Sinclair's thoughtfulness, and had slipped into it - and then, I had started making up all types of apologies in my head. What was I going to tell Mrs.Sinclair? Oh boy, she probably thought I was the most obnoxious friend her son could have.

But when I had entered the living room, ready to shed a few tears in embarrassment if needed, Mrs. Sinclair had just smiled at me, had ushered me to the living room where Sinclair was politely ogling at the plateful of waffles and chicken in front of him - and then she had made me sit down next to Sinclair, and slid a tall glass of some foreign liquid towards me. Upon inquiry, I found out that it was a juice of carrots, ginger, apple, and coconut water. Christian woke up early and went to the market to get coconuts for you, she had commented, giving the two of us a knowing smile. I had looked at him, baffled by the way he was caring for me. I had reached out, brushing his arm, and had given him a wide smile. Thank you, for everything, I had muttered. He had looked down at his plate, nodding. Drink, he had replied. I had inhaled the half-awful drink in two gulps and hoped that it'd magically cure the pounding of my head, and had then scarfed down the food. I was hungry. Sinclair had then done something - something I had never expected him to do - and in a completely uncharacteristic manner, he had picked up a piece of untouched chicken from his plate and had put it on mine. My eyes had snapped to him at once, in question and in curiosity and in something else I couldn't put my finger on. Mrs.Sinc- Agatha, as she had insisted, took in our little interaction, and served us more chicken.

I breathed out. It's okay, Jannat, I comforted myself. People have bad days.

"Why do you look so red in the face?" Sinclair's curious voice called from in front of me, startling me. In the time I was standing on the front porch, contemplating my life choices, the door had flown open and Sinclair was now standing, arms crossed over his chest, one side of his body supported by the door frame. And he was wearing an... apron? "And why are you at my doorstep?"

"I was about to rob your house," I replied swiftly.

His smile was crooked, the left side of his mouth lifting up in an almost smirk. "With bouquets of flowers in your hands? A parting gift while you rushed out of the house? How polite."

I nodded at his apron, pointing with my chin. "Why are you in an apron?"

He shrugged. "I was cooking."

"I didn't know you could cook," I said, blowing out a low whistle. "How many talents do you exactly have hidden under your sleeves, Mr.Sinclair?"

His smile was infuriating and boastful and far too pretty for this world. "Too many to count, Miss Walter."

"Pretentious bookworm," I taunted playfully, thrusting the hydrangea bouquet in his arms. "For you," I added as if it already wasn't starkly clear.

"Flowers? For me?" He let out a little, dramatic gasp, jumping to bury his face in the flowers. I stuck my hand in between the flowers and his face, and his face met my hand with a satisfying slap.

"Ow!" He yelped, even though he wasn't hurt in the slightest. "What was that for?"

"Hereditary pollen allergy," I pointed out with a shake of my head. "I know it's very mild but still, I do not want you to sneeze and get headaches."