Vanilla

Nine

A/N: Hi Beans! Hope you like the new chapter. I'm always excited to write about food and starting this book has been making me do so much research that I somehow end up with the strangest knowledge ever. 

All I can do now is hope you like diz two keeds. :'D Also, is Vanilla too young to be doing the kissy kissy?? I'm Asian. My first kiss is probably going to be at my wedding. (Okay that has no relation to one another ' v ' ) Enjoy!

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[Vanilla]

Mere hours ago, I would have laughed pretty hard and rolled my eyes at the prospect of going grocery shopping with my only childhood friend who had by the fortune of narrative grown up to be some awfully attractive young man and, at the current age, retain that streak of boyish youth that I, a petty old soul, would never have. Adding to that the fact that we hadn't parted in the best of ways and that my younger self had been so terribly traumatised by the workings of friendship, this was no amicable situation.

Or so I would like to think.

"Budget?" Leroy turned to me sideways, starting towards the rack of vegetables on sale that was surrounded by middle-aged women scrambling through the boxes for the best.

"I would say as low as you can afford but," I cleared my throat, having to increase my pace just to keep up. "I'll allow exceptions depending on the justification you offer."

Leroy snorted, cracking a smile nevertheless. We found ourselves in front of a sale box of potatoes—fifteen in each bag and running out fast. To the right were eggplants and cucumbers; left, cherry tomatoes that didn't look very appetising. I lingered behind, watching as he somehow parted the sea of last-minute shoppers and returned with a bag of potatoes, perfectly unscathed. "You have apples at home?"

"Well," I blinked, averting my gaze. "Yes. I hope. As in, I do recall having two left in the refrigerator, but I wasn't aware you needed apples in your dish."

"One is enough," he nodded, heading towards the poultry section next. "Cooking oil. You have that?"

Leroy must have assumed I was perfectly incapable of taking care of myself, which wasn't the most accurate judgement after merely basing this on the fact that I'd almost bitten my tongue off but nevertheless, asking whether I had cooking oil back in my place was practically senseless. "I do. It's butter."

He snorted, not trying very hard to hide his laugh. I on the other hand, didn't bother to entertain his rare amusement.

"Garlic?" He continued to list at the poultry section, scanning the shelves of chicken and occasionally picking up a package to glance at the price tag. "Soy sauce? Honey?"

"You're not really trying to make this into a candlelit dinner, are you?" I pretended to laugh, sounding the least bit convincing and mostly fearful. "I wasn't being serious. Something simple is good enough—I-I really wasn't expecting a restaurant-quality meal and I mean, can you really? With an electric stove and one pan? It's nice enough that you're making me dinner.

"And yes, I have a bottle of soy sauce in my cabinet," I added after realizing that I hadn't quite answered Leroy's question. Either way, he didn't even seem to be listening to whatever I was saying, going through every cut they had at a speed I couldn't help but associate with habit. Something that he did perhaps every day for a very long time. "No honey and, um, no garlic."