West of Mars -- the Meet and Greet

Mitchell wasn't having much luck reading his guitar magazine. He knew it was stupid to sit at the kitchen table and try to read in the first place, but Kerri wasn't helping matters any.

She was pacing around the cooking area, stopping to open the pantry, the refrigerator, the cabinets. She'd move things around, dig a bit in the freezer for something near the back, close everything up again, and move on to the next spot.

Over and over.

She was on her twelfth circuit when he'd had enough.

"Woman, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I need chocolate. I can't believe we don't have any chocolate. Why is there no chocolate in this house?" she asked as she took every single thing off one of the pantry shelves.

Mitchell got up to take a look at the things she was putting on the floor. Pancake mix, syrup, cans of tuna, corn starch -- that was the sort of stuff he was expecting to see. And he supposed he remembered picking up that bottle of Big Buck's Bodacious Sauce the last time he'd been at Big Buck's for some ribs.

But when it came to things like a dry scone mix, a paper cup of corn chowder that needed to have water added before it was anything but powder, and six varieties of balsamic vinegar, all he could do was scratch his head. Some of it he could blame on Val, who loved to force her gourmet finds on them. Some of it might have come from Nancy, and some of it… who knew? Maybe one of Amy's jokes again?

"Ker," he asked softly as she growled and started putting things back, "where'd some of this come from?"

She looked at the can of baby bay shrimp in her hand. "You know," she said slowly, "I have no clue. And you know what else?" she asked, fixing him with a stare that was so bright, it made him wince. "I don't care. It's not chocolate and that is what this is about. Where the fuck is the chocolate?"

He thought fast. The boys were still with Nancy; he had time before she'd want to leave for the day. He could pull this off -- if he moved now.

Mitchell grabbed Kerri by the shoulders and turned her toward the door leading to the garage. "Come with me," he said.

"Where?"

She tried to resist, so he bent and slung her over his shoulder.

"I'm taking you out and we're buying out every single peanut butter cup the store's got. What doesn't make you puke in an hour's going into the freezer."

"Stop!"

When she struggled, he set her down as gently as he could, worried that the way she was moving, she'd hurt herself. Or, worse, he'd hurt her.

"I don't want peanut butter cups. I want…" She licked her lips, her eyes roaming the ceiling. "I want brownies."

"I think I saw a box on the floor."

Kerri looked at him, her hazel eyes twinkling. "Race ya to 'em."

"Nah, you go. Call me when they're done." He started to stroll off, but she tackled him. Thankfully, not hard enough to bring him down, but hard enough to knock some of his wind out. He gave her a scornful look over his shoulder.

"You're eating?" she asked. "Then you're helping bake."

"Only if I get to smear batter on you and lick it off."

"Nope," she said calmly, picking the box of mix up off the floor.

"You do it to me?" he asked hopefully. "Would that be chocolate enough for ya?"

She pressed up against him and gave him one of those infuriating closed-lipped kisses. "Try it and see. But… after we bake these puppies and I've had a few."

Mitchell frowned as she tore into the box. She peered inside, looking so cute he wanted to melt, then with a sheepish smile read the back for the cooking directions.

"You know," he drawled, ready to break and run before she could throw something at him, "in two days, you'll be telling me to take what's left over to the studio because you don't want to gain three pounds just by breathing in their scent."

"You know," she answered, cocking her head slightly, "you could forget about that smearing batter thing, get out of my sight, and let me enjoy my brownies in peace, motherfucker."

Mitchell decided that even Trevor wasn't enough of a fool to hang around after that charming invite. He grabbed his guitar magazine and headed out onto the back porch. Anything to avoid the evil brownie fumes; Kerri would find a way to curse him so he gained three pounds, he was sure of it.

Labels: brownies, chocolate, creative writing, fiction, Kerri, kitchen, Mitchell, outtake