by Molly Snow
That made Stella think of Billy and his actual age, not what he falsely portrayed to the rest of the world. A chill started to make its way back down her spine, and anger flushed the feeling away. What was the likelihood that the same scenario would happen to her all over again with a different guy? Not likely at all. She couldn’t continue to judge guys from her last experience alone. That’s just ridiculous. “He’s a high-schooler, Kit.”
“I know, but I’d be surprised if any of the guys we know could grow even two strands per pec. Damien is like a man. And those muscles. Those muscles are like he takes some enhancer like steroids or something. Lance Armstrong got in big trouble for something like that.”
Stella shook her head and dipped it into her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Kit said. “I am being judgmental right now. You’re right; we don’t know him at all. My lips are zipped. If you want to pursue him, then go right ahead.”
“Well, it’s not even like I want to pursue him. Like I’ve said, I don’t know anything about him. I just want to learn more about him.”
“Hmmm, you want to learn more about him?” Her eyes lit up and she pulled her cell phone out of a pocket. “Let’s check his Facebook really quick.”
Suddenly Kit was a bubbling sleuth like Nancy Drew, as she pulled Stella onto the bedside with her.
“Hm,” Kit mused, “he hasn’t visited his profile in over a week. And check out all these messages posted to his wall: ‘Where’ve you been?’ ‘Dude, are you alive?’ ‘Is your number the same?’ ‘Missed you at the beach.’”
“That is weird…” Stella kept reading more and more messages from both guys and girls, wondering where he had disappeared off to. But what did it mean? He hadn’t been answering friends’ calls or surfing at Shoreline’s beach in over a week. Did he even mention the trip? That’s not usual behavior for someone deemed most popular. Seemingly everything she judged was just suddenly wrong.
You know my name, but you don’t know me, he had said to her outside the grange. “Who is Damien Capernalli?”
TEN
Damien entered the kitchen with caution. Something had shattered with a chorus of other noise. Maggie’s behind bulged out of the pantry, and a box of crackers went flying over everyone, coming straight for him. He caught the box and set it on a white-tiled counter. Stella turned and locked her eyes on his with an expression he couldn’t discern.
“Maggie,” the others were saying, pulling on her.
“I’m hungry!” she shrieked back. “Must find food.”
Damien carefully stepped around shards of glass on the old linoleum floor. “Maggie,” he said, tugging gently on her shoulder.
She turned and flushed red like the first time she laid eyes on him. “I’m hungry.” She pouted. “The old bat won’t have dinner for us for another three hours. I haven’t had lunch. I went on a monstrous hike. I’m literally going to die if I don’t eat something more than half a beef stick.”
By the looks of things, he believed her. “Go have a seat, Mag. Let me have a look and clean this up.”
“Oh glory. He called me Mag.” She placed a hand to her forehead. “Someone help me sit down.”
Caleb escorted her to a seat in the dining room and Damien set his sights back on the pantry. Pretty bare for a bed and breakfast. No wonder the lady had to go shopping. The refrigerator just had some cheese, milk, salad dressings and other odds and ends. And there was a bare minimum of thawed chicken. Good thing he didn’t need much to work his magic. He rubbed his hands together, wondering what else may be available.
Upon opening the tightly sealed freezer, a pungent odor like rancid meat flared his nostrils in disgust. He jerked aside and leaned over like he would throw up, feeling his heart race. He knew his sense of smell was like a hundred times more sensitive now as a wolf, but what would stink so bad he’d react that violently? Holding his breath as best he could, he shifted around the few icy items, until he saw the Ziploc bag of what looked like entrails. That had to be it.
Out of crazy curiosity, he put his nose right to it and sniffed. Big mistake. It felt like he just inhaled a fire that burned his lungs. Damien slid open the kitchen’s window, pushed out the screen and flung the bagged up stuff as far as he could. Resting against the sink, he breathed in and out, in and out, still being able to smell the stench, though it was more bearable now. He reached into the cupboards below and scattered around the cleaning products until he found a Lysol aerosol can. The next moment, he was back in front of the freezer, giving it a nice spray before punching it closed.
“Note to self…,” Damien said, “…be more careful when opening strangers’ freezers.”
Everyone else retreated to other places by the time he had his ingredients set on an island: salt, flour, eggs, yeast, olive oil, barbeque sauce, brown sugar and chicken tenders. Then there was the plate of snacks he threw together for Maggie: quesadillas and crackers with peanut butter, to hold her off in the meantime.
Making dinner would keep him busy, both his body and mind. He’d have to make an excuse to go back to the beach every night, unless he wanted to get caught as a beast. There was no way he was going to stay the night with Gordon or Caleb, and risk having them see him for who he really is.
Since Stella was still weird around him, he figured the kitchen was also a momentary refuge from her. He debated whether or not he should approach her again, whether or not he should give an actual apology for making her uncomfortable.
He cracked an egg into a hand, letting it drip through his fingers into a bowl. Nah, approaching her, even to apologize, would probably make things even more uncomfortable. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything, and just keep his distance, like he told her at the beach. She definitely was different from other girls he knew. Girls who wanted to be close to him. He couldn’t solve things the way he was used to, by simply saying sorry and moving in for a kiss with big brown puppy-dog eyes.
…Or could he?
As he stirred the contents of his bowl, thinking that over, the kitchen door swung open. He hoped it would be Stella, but it was the purple-headed friend. Kit, he remembered.
“Hi,” he said, still stirring away.
“Hey,” she responded tentatively. After that, though, it was like a volcano erupting. She set her elbows on the island across from him and confessed, “So, I was going to, like, walk in here and pretend to want a drink from the refrigerator, and smoothly ask you a question or two. But I can’t. I just have to come right out and ask you. Please don’t tell Stella I am saying this either, or she’ll hate me for a couple days.”
Damien couldn’t help but smile crookedly to that. His interest was definitely piqued, and he moved the bowl aside to pay full attention. “What’s up?”
“That’s what I want to ask you. What’s up with you? Why are you here? Wouldn’t you rather be with your beach buds or whatever?”
“No,” he said. “I would rather be here.”
“But why?” Her forehead wrinkled. “Seriously. You can tell me.”
“No, I can’t,” he said before thinking.
“You can’t? Why? What’s the big deal? And why have you been avoiding your friends?”
“How did you know about that?” He grabbed the sack of flour and poured some in with his mix.
“Facebook. It’s a wonderful tool for stalking,” she joked.
“You looked me up? Why?” He set the bag back down, and asked the next thing that popped into his mind. “Stella want to know something?”
“Um, no. That’s not what I said. Just answer why you can’t say that you’re here. You told Stella it’s because you like werewolves.”
Like was the wrong word. “I want to learn about werewolves,” he said. “Got any info? I would appreciate it.” He flashed a smile.
Kit tilted her head and peered keenly at him. “What is it you are hiding, Mr. Capernalli? I have a right to know as Stella Dabrowski’s best friend.”
He chuckled to lighten the mood. It was like a
chimp had jumped on his back and wouldn’t stop making its monkey sounds. “I just need to get away from my normal life… life as I have been used to it. You can stop with the interrogation. You don’t have to worry; I know better than to hit on your best friend.”
“What do you mean? Explain.”
Great Scott, this girl wasn’t going to back off. “You,” he motioned, “made it completely clear the other night she does not like me. And I’m a guy who can take a hint.” He winked.
“Well, you, sir,” she pointed in accusation, “made it clear to her that you’re a man-ho.”
His hand accidentally knocked the carton of eggs off the counter, and they fell to floor, bursting. He looked down to the yellow yoke streaks in frustration, then back to Kit. “A man-ho?”
“Yeah, dude. When she asked you out, you weren’t even paying attention to her, because one of your little bimbo girls was stealing your attention.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He put his hands up in complete surprise. “She told you about Tina? The cashier at my Uncle Leo’s? Because that girl truly is a bimbo. What your bestie doesn’t know is I wanted to say yes to her request for a date, but she threw a fit before I had the chance.”
Kit squinted her eyes in disbelief. “You wanted to go on a date with Stella?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said with as much emphasis as he could to rub it in.
“So you’re here for her, then. I knew you weren’t a paranormal addict. You know, she’s not going to like all this lying business.”
His pulse rate heightened. He could feel his heart beat hard with a sudden anger. He gripped the edge of the counter, letting his forearms bulge with all their strength. “I am not here, chasing after Stella.” A deep-throated growl threatened to escape, and he did all he could to hold it back.
Kit looked at him with fear in her eyes. He quickly turned his back to her and took a couple deep breaths, knowing he was not supposed to react that way. His response wasn’t supposed to be so… scary. “I’m sorry. Please… please leave me alone.”
He heard the footsteps out of the kitchen and the creak of the swinging door. He didn’t move for a long time, just trying to get his bearings back. What happened was so messed up. How could he let himself get that way? Kit was annoying, but she didn’t deserve that. Stella would hear about every detail, too, no doubt. He rubbed his face in worry.
What… was… that? His hand quivered as he slowly touched his forehead. He could feel the prickles. The toaster. He pulled a toaster plug out of the wall in a swift jerk, brought the appliance close to his face, and checked his reflection in its metal. Hairs. They were there from every pore, but retracting back into his skin without a trace.
The door creaked again, and he took one more glimpse of his now normal face. When he turned to Maggie, she eyed him strangely. Had Kit said something? “You okay, Damien?” she asked.
His shirt felt a bit wet with sweat, but his pulse was back to normal. “Yeah… why?”
“You just look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.
“No, no ghost.”
“Darn,” she said deflated. “Not one paranormal occurrence yet. If you see a creature, make sure you let me know right away.”
“Will do.” He breathed some more at the irony of the statement.
“Anyway, I feel much better after you gave me those snacks. You’re a life-saver, Damien.” She set an empty, crumb-filled plate in the sink. “Can I help you a bit?”
“No, that’s fine.” He wiped his forehead.
*
When Maggie exited the kitchen she was all smiles. Stella waited with the rest of the group, which was kind of huddled together on the throw rug of the front room. This was so silly. Kit couldn’t be right about Damien. Stella knew her best friend could be dramatic, but this time it was ridiculous.
Maggie plopped down with the rest of them. “Still looks like Damien to me. Smokin’ hot. Oh, and tonight’s din-din is barbeque chicken pizza. What would we do without him?”
Everyone looked at Kit who shrugged her shoulders. “He looked like a monster to me, when I saw him.”
Caleb said, “What did he look like again?”
“His muscles were bulging huge.”
“That’s normal for him.” Maggie’s eyes lit up.
“His face turned really red.”
“We all blush from time to time. I do all the time around him. A shameless habit.”
“Alright, well,” Kit shrugged again, “he just scared me to death. He looked like a monster to me.”
Gordon piped in, “We can turn on my scanner and see what happens.”
Maggie rolled her eyes to that. “Puh-lease, we’ve already gone over that idea. Your scanner doesn’t work.”
Gordon looked down to the ground in defeat.
“Well, what do we do now?” Caleb asked.
Stella had to say something this time. “We resume our trip like normal. And nobody brings up my name to Damien again.” She eyed Kit. “We’ll have dinner, maybe play some games, tell some scary paranormal stories, etcetera. Just pretend like this never happened, and have some fun together.”
ELEVEN
Although the plan was to have fun together, everyone broke off into doing their own things, whether that was reading, playing Solitaire, checking Facebook statuses, or whatever. Stella wondered why Damien hadn’t exited the kitchen, since a couple hours ago, since the supposed big blow up with Kit. She had been sitting in the dining room, reading the brochures about Lady Shoemaker’s home, keeping one eye on the kitchen’s door out of curiosity. Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard any clanking around of dishes and things in a long time. Had he actually slipped away without her noticing?
Stella looked around again to everyone absorbed in their own activities, before standing up. She had to see for herself what he was up to. She quietly made her way into the kitchen. Ingredients were everywhere, a carton of eggs broken up on the floor. And then there was Damien, sitting on a stool, his head down on the counter, his large arms lying down with the rest of his hunched-over body.
Damien had actually fallen asleep. He was so peaceful. Completely opposite of what Kit described. Stella stepped closer to him. His dark hair looked especially good, seemingly thicker or longer. She had the silly urge to touch him.
“Ding!” An old timer went off. Stella’s nerves jumped at the sudden, loud sound. Damien jolted up and then nearly fell out of his seat when his eyes met hers. “H-hi,” he said and cleared his throat.
“Uh, hi.” Stella cracked a smile. Although Damien was a big beefcake, he looked completely harmless right now. Kit had to be wrong. He wouldn’t harm a fly.
“My timer went off.” He stated the obvious.
“Yes, yes it did. What were you waiting for?”
He brushed a hand through his hair and pointed at the fridge. “My dough to rise.”
Stella nodded and didn’t say anything else. It was so hard to have a conversation with Damien. There was still a bunch of awkward in the air.
“Do you want to see it? The dough?”
“Oookay.” She smiled again.
He seemed surprised. “Everything’s okay?”
“Yeah, everything is fine.” She leaned over and picked up the carton of eggs.
He looked at the mess with a forced chuckle. “I forgot that was there.”
She just nodded again, keeping her mouth shut. Damien got up, went to the fridge and pulled out a plate with a big dough ball. He made a clear space for it on the island and said, “It’s perfect.”
Stella politely agreed and busied her hands with putting away the ingredients already used, and wiping up the raw egg splatters off the floor. Damien was quiet, too, as he rummaged around, and then found a big wooden carving board. “Oh, could you pass me back the flour?” he asked almost like a scared puppy.
“Sure,” Stella said, going to the pantry and retrieving it. She never saw this side to him. This very nervous, so unsure side of him.
�
��Thanks.” He powdered the wood, and smoothed a hand across it, evening out the white stuff.
Stella sat on the stool across from him, not saying a word, watching him work. He mashed and stretched the dough ball a few times, keeping to himself. This gave her eyes free roaming time, as they would go from looking at his arms to looking at his chest, to looking at his determined face.
After stretching the dough to satisfaction, Damien spin-tossed it a couple times. He looked at Stella with a little smile and she nodded her approval. Then things got really interesting. He flung the dough higher, turned around and caught it. Stella offered a somewhat-amused clap. Next, in his little show for her, he flipped the dough even higher and spun around a couple times, before letting the dough wheel its way from his left arm, across the back of his neck, and to the other arm.
“Wow.” Stella was beside herself.
Finally, he spun the dough around and around his finger, like spinning a plate. She could tell his confidence was back, as he ended it with raising his eyebrows a couple times at her.
“That really was impressive,” she said.
“That’s nothing.” He waved a hand at the thought. Stella thought he was playing false modesty, but then he said, “If these old ceilings were higher, I could give you a real show.”
“I believe you.” She let her eyes set on his longer than usual. It felt good. Electric. She pulled her eyes away, the pull feeling too strong, and then looked back up. A bit of flour powdered his jaw-line white. “You have something… right there.” She rubbed her own face with a thumb for example.
“Where? Here?” He rubbed the wrong side.
“No, over here.”
“Here?” He stepped closer to her, rubbing his chin. The way he was looking at her, Stella knew he was distracted. A smear of something on his face was the last thing on his mind. Was she dreaming? “Show me,” he said, and took her hand in his. Stella’s heart sputtered at the touch, but she didn’t pull away. His warm hand moved her fingers softly across his scruff. She tingled at the sensation, and his deep brown eyes were so centered on her, she felt like she could melt out of her seat, to nothing more than a steaming puddle on the floor.
