Page 16 of Twisted Paths

Mrs Higgins waves a dismissive hand. “It’s a gas oven, Nancy, not a wild animal.”

I scowl at my BLT, hating it more with every bite. “I just… prefer other creative pursuits.”

Mrs Higgins sighs dreamily, looking towards Luke’s perfect homemade meal. “And some people have a natural gift, don’t they?”

I ignore the implication.

Luke, for his part, just takes a slow bite of his chicken, glancing between us like a man who is thoroughly enjoying the show but has no intention of getting involved.

Smart.

Mrs Higgins leans forward slightly, her expression thoughtful. “Cooking’s such a useful skill. Can make all the difference in a home, you know.”

Before I can groan again—

It happens.

A low, slow, gut-wrenching noise rumbles from beneath the bench.

Luke stiffens. I freeze. Mrs Higgins stops mid-chew.

There’s a beat—a moment of awful, suspended silence—before the smell hits.

It is immediate. It is catastrophic. It is every bad decision Bernard has ever made in one concentrated cloud.

“Oh for—” Luke swears under his breath, shoving away from the bench like he’s just been hit with mustard gas.

I’m right behind him, yanking my rucksack up and stumbling sideways, desperately trying to escape the toxic wave engulfing us. In the rush, I reach out to grab his precariously balanced Tupperware before he loses anything—

And that’s when it happens.

My sandwich.

My entire sandwich.

For one horrifying second, I feel it slipping from my hand. I make a desperate attempt to snatch it—my fingers just graze the plastic wrapper—

But it’s too late.

Time slows as my poor, innocent BLT tumbles toward the ground.

It flips mid-air, falls apart, gravity claiming it in the cruellest way possible, before landing in pieces on the grass. Mayonnaise side down. Of course.

I stare at it, frozen in horror.

“Oh, come on!”

Luke, still juggling his own food and rucksack, barely glances at it. “Should’ve held onto that instead of saving my salad.”

I whip my head toward him. “I tried! But you,” I gesture at his ridiculous balancing act of homemade bread, chicken, and backpack survival strategy “had a lot going on! How about a thank you?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You are right. Sorry. Thank you for saving my salad.” He very much looks like he is biting back a grin.That little twerp.

I fold my arms. “Well, I hope you enjoy your meal, Luke, because I’ll be wasting away over here.”

Luke lets out a short breath, shakes his head slightly, and then pushes his Tupperware toward me.

“Here.”

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