Stefan Pierce

"Clara, the food is ready," I say, raising my voice enough so she can hear me.

I set the dishes and glasses of water on the counter. I then neatly arrange the seats for us, as I usually do for myself and Charlie, dusting them with my hands. The kitchen lighting dimmed to give it a romantic impression.

Even after 10 minutes, when I haven't heard from her and I'm back to methodically arranging the dishes, worry crosses me. I hadn't realized I'd been in the kitchen for over 20 minutes.

Once I'm satisfied with the smell of the meal and the arrangement of the plates and glasses, I take off my apron and walk out of the kitchen into the living room.

She's nowhere to be seen.

I immediately panic when I don't see her in the front yard or upstairs after calling her name for the hundredth time. It's almost 9.30 p.m., which means there won't be a single human being around, yet this girl has the audacity to leave the house.

This has never been the extent of my concern throughout my life. It's still dangerous for me to be out from the city and in this solitary cottage-style house. 

Her phone is lying on the couch. Clara would never leave her phone like that. I take long, hard breaths to calm my rising anxiety.

I'd never been so terrified when Charlie was out of sight. Perhaps because he is aware of the risk, he is putting himself in by living with me.

But Clara doesn't know.

She has no idea what will happen if she is seen with me here or elsewhere.

"Damn it, Clara!" I curse as I run my hands through my hair, pulling it forcefully.

"Stefan."

Hearing a small whisper from behind, my heart skips a dangerous beat. I abruptly look back.

My body relaxes when I see the girl who, for a few minutes, crumbled my heart like paper. I sigh deeply and throw back my head, letting go of the fear. My heartbeat, which was racing at the speed of light, slows down.

I want to hug her tight and yell at her for being out of my sight.

But either she will think I'm nuts or ten-year-old.

"Where the fuck were you, Clara?" I shout. As I try to keep my anger at bay, I can hear it in my voice.

I'd like to give her some reassurance about how afraid I became when she wasn't in front of me. But I can't. I shouldn't.

She utterly disregards my query and the care with which it is laced. She enters the living room through the French door that opens into the backyard, as calm as she can be.

My bloodshot eyes are drawn to a small German shepherd puppy in her arms, quivering and cooing in her arms.

She moves closer to me, taking small steps not to disturb the whining puppy. Her natural attractiveness is enhanced by a wide smile I have never seen before on her face.

Tense muscles in my body and stiff face are quickly replaced by admiration for this girl.

Just looking at the little thing in her hands makes her face light up with joy.

I sometimes don't know her quite well. Every time I'm with her, I see a different side of her. The sweet, sensitive little girl who finds joy in the smallest of things.

"Its cries could be heard from the garden in the backyard. It was freezing because of the cold under the bushes and I couldn't help myself." She elaborates. My gaze fixated on her, and I refused to believe anything other than her whispers.

"Isn't it the cutest thing?" she asks softly.

"Of course, it is," I respond, stroking her cheek. She notices that I'm not talking about the dog, but about her.

"Will you keep it?" she asks, changing the topic promptly.

I take a quick step away from that thing, and eventually from her.

"No way, why would you want me to keep that?" I ask, disgusted, pointing at the small innocent dog that is sweetly resting in her arms.

"Because I won't be able to take it with me. Christopher has a pet allergy." She says it convincingly, running her fingertips over its fuzzy head to ensure its safety.

"And what gives you the impression that I like dogs?"

The look on her face tells me I shouldn't have said that. She pays close attention to what I say these days.

She's only a few steps away from throwing something at me.

Perhaps, the puppy.

But I'm sure she wouldn't. She has already begun to care for it as if she were a mother in just a few minutes.

"You're keeping it." she says, almost commandingly.

"No, I'm not."

She closes her eyes and sighs. Knowing well that I'm not the one who will fall for her threats.

I see the most pleading eyes as she opens them. Her pouty lips doing an excellent job of tempting me.

She's aware that I'm too tough to be hypnotized by that as well. Despite this, she continues to attempt.

"Still, no."

I walk away from there to avoid that furry monster.

It's not like I hate dogs. They're just too demanding and difficult to deal with.

It's like having to put up with a high-maintenance girlfriend.

I come to a halt in front of the kitchen counter, looking at the food I covered with other dishes to keep it hot and fresh.

I was about to shout out her name again, but when I turn around, she's already standing behind me, her eyes begging.

"I really want to keep it, please." and here goes another tempting look.

"Mmh. This is delicious." Clara mumbles, closing her eyes dramatically. She stuffs the final mouthful of my third sandwich into her mouth.

I smile as I watch her lick the sauce from her lips. It's a good thing I made extra sandwiches or else I would have gone hungry.

But by looking at her pleased face, I would give all my sandwiches to her without thinking.

She looks down at her feet, where her apparently new pet is licking the dish of his cooked chicken that I was obliged to cook.

I haven't decided whether or not to keep it.

She maintains her heart eyes on it till the whimpering creature rests its small paws and head on her feet after drinking from a plate of water.

"Thank you for the food. What should we do now?" she asks, wiping her lips and hands with a tissue. I take our dishes and place them in the sink.

"What do you want to do?" I return my attention to her as she picks up the dog in her arms.

"Let's see your room."

"My room already, huh?" I tease, invading her personal space. She bites her lower lip as a blush forms on her cheeks.