𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝟕] ¿𝐀𝐬 𝐂𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐀𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬?

"Why does it taste like that?" I coughed, spitting into my napkin, and wiping my mouth. Sam furrowed his eyebrows at me, leaning forward and stabbing his fork into my food.

"It tastes fine." He shrugged, swallowing the chicken. I shook my head, chewing on my lip. He was probably right. I hadn't eaten in a while so maybe the taste would be hard getting used to again.

It was like when I had ice cream, the last time I had it (before everything that's happened), it didn't turn my teeth to ice within a second. So maybe the chicken was just nasty because my taste buds were now more accustomed to vomit than they were to meat and ice cream?

"Can you make me something else, pretty please? Sorry, I didn't like it." I frowned, slumping in my seat. His expression instantly softened as he stood, coming around my chair and wrapping his arms around my neck from behind.

"It's okay, I didn't like the chicken that much either." He reassured me, his voice soft like a child's. He flattened my hair, pressing his lips to my hair yet not quite kissing it. It was cute. He was cute.

No, he's not, shut up.

"I want toast," I muttered as he pulled away, looking up at him through my eyelashes. He smiled, pushing some hair away from my face.

"I love your hair." He whispered, twirling a piece between his fingers. He leaned down, and for a second, I thought he'd kiss me. But he didn't. He kissed the strand of hair between his fingers and stepped away towards the kitchen.

Don't go red, don't go red, I repeated, squishing my cheeks between my hands. He turned to look at me as he popped the bread into the toaster but I looked away.

"You're so cute." He smiled, shaking his head. My eyes widened and I smacked my hands over my red face.

"Stop!" I whined, stomping my feet lightly. I parted my fingers to take a glance at him and he was already looking at me, smiling at me like I was the only person left on earth. Which by the way, god forbid I get stuck with him.

Stop looking at me like that!

"What'd I do?" He spoke softly, cocking his head to the side and planting his palms on the counter, his arms flexing and earning my attention. When he noticed where my attention directed, he rolled his eyes. "Stop." He mocked me.

I lightly gasp, dramatically rising from my seat and slamming my hands on the table. "Did you just mock me, Samuel?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

He wore a hurt expression. "How could you think I'd ever do something like that?"

"Because you did."

"Gracie, baby-" He started.

"Don't call me baby," I interjected, frowning at him, my arms folded over my chest. He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms too.