The delicious smell of Mac n’ cheese filled your nostril as you entered Cliff’s home. The older man paused his movements, pot in one hand, noodle box in the other, his head turned in your direction. “I swear to God, I’ve been sitting around on my ass all day,” He held his hands up in mock defense, the lie slipping out as easily as a truth.

Cliff had had a pretty bad stunting accident recently. Steel pipe to the back and all… Though he believed he was perfectly fine, you and Rick took turns keeping a daily eye on him just in case. So here you were, supposed to be making sure Cliff was recovering and resting properly…yet every time you came to check up on him all you saw was him up and moving way more than he was supposed to.

Brandy pushed her snout against your leg, sniffing at your pant leg. You knew he was full of shit. His shoes were on and his jacket was tossed over the back of the couch so you knew that he had just been out which was a huge “no no” for the recovery process.

His sparkling blue eyes dragged up and down your figure as it did every time you came. He bit his lip which made the dimples in his cheeks pop out, turned back to the stove and placed the pot on it with a metal clank. “I was hungry. And anyway, I’m fine—go tell Rick you’re ready for your check. I hurt my back, I didn’t paralyze myself.” He ran a tan hand through his sandy colored hair.

The afternoon air wafted gently through the open window. The breeze not doing anything to deter the unamused expression from your face or the less-than-kind thoughts in your mind. How hard was it to just sit the hell down and relax? Apparently, ridiculously hard for Cliff Booth.