she loved Michael Jackson up until he made Bad;
Mason O’Rear held the door open and waited for him to grab it. Jordan Staal put his large hand over her smaller one and nudged her forward. She reluctantly stepped forward into her apartment and set her purse down on the counter next to an empty bottle of pills.
Jordan saw her hesitance and walked ahead of her, savoring his first few moments in her home. It was simple and bare, almost empty, until he walked into the kitchen. He stood in awe at the chrome and dark cherry wood that made up the huge room. Mason trailed after her and leaned against the door frame.
“Nice kitchen.” He muttered. She chuckled and walked forward, putting her hands on his shoulders and guiding him to a bar stool.
Mason walked around the counter and posed, gesturing towards her brand new Whirlpool appliances. Jordan laughed and watched her dance around the kitchen. She seemed more comfortable in front of a stove than in front of an audience, and it confused him.
“I’m guessing you can cook.” Mason put both her hands on the stovetop that was built into the marble island he was seated at.
“I wanted to go to culinary school.” Jordan raised an eyebrow.
“Then why are you a dancer?” Suddenly, her fingers seemed more interesting that their conversation.
“It helps.” There was silence. Uncomfortable, suffocating silence. “So, what do you want for lunch?” They talked while Mason began pulling ingredients out of cabinets. It seemed that since she had met Jordan she had gotten better at learning to change subject, which meant that she needing to change the subject more often. It had been a long time since Mason had had a relationship with someone other than family, and all of this – conversation, laughter, affection – it was all new to her.
Jordan Staal watched Mason laugh, he watched her nose crinkle when she smiled, and he watched her lips purse as she cooked. He frowned knowing that this beautiful girl didn’t want the have a life ahead of her. So he asked the question that he had been scared to since he met her.
“Why are you giving up?” And just like that, her face, the spatula, and the plate fell.