[Rachel]

"...and it wasn't there after I checked it the second time," I explained quietly, cupping a hand over the receiver whilst heading down the street and taking a turn. "Right after whoever it was that got to it before I did and, you, too, must be curious? I wouldn't have imagined the number of enemies he'd made along the way to be... well. That many, to say the least."

"You'd be surprised, Rachel. I know I was. Hadn't expected to tempt someone in their inner circle with only double digits on the line. Apparently, they weren't so reluctant to bring him down either, for some reason."

I tried to recall the characteristic footsteps and scented perfume worn by the stranger who'd swapped the contents of the folder with falsified documents. Nothing of importance seemed to jump out at once.

"So it was you, then," I sighed, lowering my hand and upping the volume a little just so that I could hear Trudy over the crowd I was about to pass. "You handled it."

"Indirectly, yes," I could hear the shuffling of papers over on her side. "But I wouldn't have been able to without their existing hatred towards Honeycutt in the first place. It's a skill, you know. Learning to use the things around you that already exist to your advantage."

I laughed quietly, interest piqued by the scent of fried crisps wafting down the street. Curious and a tad exhausted from all the earlier action and anxiety, I followed it.

"You're not wrong. But I do think it is all part of the faith and trust we should have in the Lord to pave our paths as well," I pointed out, coming across a line snaking out from a corner of the street. A take-out chippy. "And perhaps that is why he put you on my side, too.

"Because recently, everything's... everything's been happening on its own accord and I've never felt so relieved and restored and soothed but—but I... well, of course I trust His judgement and all and so everything that's been unfolding cannot possibly be wrong in any way but for some reason... for some reason, although it's been the case for the past twenty-three years of my life, I've! I've never felt so odd about having my prayers answered and everything else going just the way I've hoped it would!"

Joining the queue amidst our conversation over the phone, I clasped my purse under my arm and waited to be served, strangely craving the cheap fragrance and crunch of battered dory all of a sudden.

"You're being too kind, Rachel," Trudy laughed over the phone, seemingly ecstatic. "Of course you trust His judgement, no doubts about that. You always have, and that is why you're being rewarded in the first place. Nothing's wrong. Don't you worry."

Though it was nice of her to say so, something inside me begged to differ and brush aside her safety blanket of compliments. Everything was far too right that it was all beginning to feel rather wrong. But perhaps it was this very doubt in my prayers that served as the true test of it all and by doubting so now, I would thus be failing it.

"Maybe you're right," I sighed in the end, observing that the queue was being cleared at a surprisingly fast rate. I'd shifted up to the front in a matter of minutes and was next up to place my order for chips. "Maybe I am being a little too doubtful about sinners. Either way, it shouldn't be up to me to decide who gets punished and to what extent. I should leave it to Him."

The customer before me walked away from the truck with a serving of piping-hot fish and chips, making way for myself to move up with an order. "A serving with cheese on the side, please."

"That'll be four-fifty," the man behind the cash register nodded my way. I held up a hand, listening to what Trudy had to say.

"That's the Rachel I know. All you have to do is keep me updated and it'll all be over soon. Tomorrow, you'll be winning the prize like the true patissier you are."

I laughed quietly, clicking open my purse for a couple of twos but finding instead, tons of small change. Picking up a bunch and laying them out on the counter, the staff member began to count. "Thank you, Trudy. I've always wanted to—" That can't be right. I was two-dollars short.

"Short two dollars, Miss," my thoughts were voiced aloud, repeated by the man behind the counter and I quickly covered the bottom half of my smartphone, looking through the rest of my purse for more spare change. Nothing.

"I'll pay by card."

"Nope, no cards Miss," he continued to humiliate me in front of his whispering customers with the most horrid smile, watching as I deliberated between politely asking what kind of store wouldn't accept payment by card nowadays and walking away with my tail between my legs, humiliated and embarrassed.

"Miss?" I was holding up the line. That much, I was aware. Perhaps today simply wasn't the day I'd have fish and chips by a roadside chippy. Maybe I was meant to finish my call and dine somewhere else.

Moving aside and allowing the customer behind me to take my spot, I was about to leave when a hand reached past me to present a two-dollar note to the man at the cash register. He laughed, accepting it and giving the person a salute as I turned, meeting the eyes of the last person I'd expected to see.

He cleared his throat with an awkward cough before waving with his head bowed low and then tottering all the way to the end of the line, successfully garnering the attention of the entire queue—split into half by the gap that I supposed indicated where he had been minutes before. Five customers to the counter and now, at about eleven. Re-queueing.

"What are you doing?" I blinked, glancing back at the staff and telling him to return the note. "I can dine elsewhere with a card. Why did you have to leave your—ugh. Good Lord."

Lowering my voice and removing my hand over the receiver, I interrupted myself to give Trudy, still on the line, a heads-up that I'd be calling her back before ending the call. Naturally, I was stunned; finding myself unable to look at the shrivelling human that was doing his best to hide himself behind the silhouette of the customer before him, shifting whenever I stepped in a different angle so that he remained out of my sight.

Eventually, I couldn't stand him any longer and went straight up to him (all the way behind) to drag him by the arm to the front of the queue where I'd been.

"Uwauwawhhaat—"

"Add to my order, you idiot! Why would you go all the way to the end of the line after already coming up to the front and cutting the queue?" I snapped, unable to understand the way his mind worked. "Just pay for your own portion."

Chip Honeycutt did not appear to understand English. He stared at me blankly before raising his hands and waving them around. "N-no no, that's not what I meant to do... I thought you needed an additional two dollars, so I just offered to pay for the rest of your meal! How could you think I was trying to cut the queue?" Shaking his head and declining my generous offer, he shuffled back to the end of the line with red ears, oddly giving the people around apologetic looks.

Understandably, I was stunned. Again. Naturally, I'd known the extent of his ability to drive me absolutely insane but I hadn't expected him to refuse the kind of will of a Christian! It felt to myself, unimaginable. But then I reasoned that perhaps he didn't understand what it meant to be kind and so wouldn't be able to identify an act of kindness when it was presented to him either way.

"Miss? Your cheese chips."

I turned to see the staff member sliding a takeaway box across the counter and picked it up, thanking him before stopping by the end of the line to ease the annoying needle in my chest.

"I didn't ask for you to do whatever it was you did back there but I will be returning the money out of conscience, so," I nodded once in acknowledgment, turning to leave.

"Wait!" He actually reached out to grab me by the arm, then, as quickly as he'd done it, retreated twice the speed. "I didn't mean to do that. U-um. I'm sorry. I was just wondering if, you know, do you... do you think you can, um, maybe spare me a minute?"

I frowned at once. "Huh?"

"I... I was just wondering if we could talk. For a while," he laughed sheepishly, stiff and visibly nervous, fiddling with his fingers in a manner that would have ticked anyone off. Yet, the fact that he'd openly requested for my time and a seemingly harmless chat made for further suspicions of ulterior motives.

Naturally, I was unsure of what he was getting at. Should he have, by some uncanny, animalistic sense of hearing, eavesdropped on Trudy and my conversation over the phone or somehow found out that I'd not only been in contact with Trudy but was fully aware of the alteration to his pre-selection profiling submitted by Dempsey, then—no. No, there simply could not be a valid reason for him to want to speak with me unless... unless I was right all along and Chip Honeycutt would, of course, be well aware of it all because he paid Dempsey to write him in all along. Exactly.

"Well," I sighed, giving in whilst checking my watch. "I haven't got all day but I suppose five minutes won't harm."

His face appeared to light up with a beam of sunshine, proceeding to start with a question that did well to throw me off his trail.

"Thank you! So, um, I wanted to ask... why do you bake?" Honeycutt was back to fiddling with his fingers and giving me a curious look, then, shaking his head as though that could erase what he'd said so earlier, asked another. "I-I mean, why are you baking? Wait, that's almost the same question. Uh—is it okay if I redo that?"

I snorted, finding him oddly entertaining but at the same time, confusing to say the least. This, of course, stemmed from the fact that no one would ever understand what this hopeless man is getting at. "Take your time," I said for patience's sake. He appeared to regain his confidence in some manner.

"Ah! Okay, I have it. I, um. I was wondering if you could tell me your reason for, you know. Becoming a pastry chef," he was too distracted talking to me that he'd forgotten to move up in the line which left the job to me, who had to remind him twice. "Do you like sweets? Did your grandmother teach you how to bake? Is baking your passion?"

Those were strange things to ask or talk about on the street, sounding more like interview questions by a news anchor or writer in the Baker's Times. Yet, I couldn't see why Chip Honeycutt would be preparing me for one and so couldn't see the harm in answering his odd, confusing questions.

"I don't like sweets, I love them. It was something I was meant to be doing from the very start," I explained. "This is my path. Moreover, I run a business that's become part of the forefront of its industry—and got to where it was without failure as an option! Of course I'd follow the path that He'd laid out for me."

He appeared slightly taken aback by my response. "O-oh. But how about you, Miss Rachel? Is this the path you chose?"

"Didn't you hear what I said? It's the one I was given," I sighed, wondering if he'd ever get it. "But if you insist, then maybe I've had some form of choice somewhere along the way but for myself to be baking since the age of... well, four or five, and excelling since then—it's no coincidence is it? I was blessed."

"Oh! So it's the 'started-early-and-liked-it-a-lot' for you?" Honeycutt seemed convinced, nodding along. "Always dreamed of having your own bakery, stuff like that?"

Dreamed of having my own bakery? It was an odd, strange way of putting things since I'd never really had to dream for such things. In my case, I was blessed with them. They were given to me. "Baking for my classmates and sharing what I made with the rest of my friends, yes. I liked that, true enough... but dreaming of things, no. I don't dream. I pray."

For once, he looked genuinely excited by my response—a brilliant smile crossing his features. "I did that too! I remember it so well. I really liked doing it, hehe."

"Only... well. I don't think others liked me doing it as much as I liked doing so myself," he laughed sadly, averting his gaze all of a sudden and there, right there, I heard the uncanny sound of a lunchbox falling to the floor. A clattering, a tumbling of its contents out from the box, lid and all.

A small boy, hair the shade of sunshine and eyes the colour of the sky, surfaced at the back of my mind and for no reason at all, he was staring up at me and I, down at him. I know this boy. I've known him for so long and there he was, before me. All grown up and still, oddly enough, the same.

Somewhere along the way, I'd pushed him out of my mind; forgotten a tiny speck of dust that seemed to myself, irrelevant in the path I'd trod and now, he was here. Returned. Was this, too, planned and determined? Had we been given paths that would, ultimately, converge once more or was this all part of a test, to see if I had the strength to pray for a sinner?

I kept this all within, unsure of how this should be raised or if it should be raised at all. Swallowing hard, I, too, averted my gaze, leaving us in awkward silence until it was Chip Honeycutt's turn to (finally) order a tremendous portion of takeaways, to my surprise.

Five boxes.

"Five?" I couldn't help but turn to him. "Are you mad?"

"Hehe," he laughed, seemingly unfazed. "Xander can easily finish two and Giselle's a fan of finishing half of her second portion, so. I usually keep the other half for her late-night snack when she's up doodling."

There was no comprehending the odd twist in my chest; the unusual turning and flipping of my guts inside and the sour taste at the back of my throat, reacting to the tight clench of my heart. But hasn't this been the case for my entire life? Why was I feeling it now? Because I could see him? See the person He was sacrificing for my own happiness, answering my prayers? Right before my very eyes?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[Chip]

Never in my whole entire existence would I have imagined myself walking alongside Miss Rachel who seemed to be enjoying her serving of fish and chips and having to rein in my horses of temptation to have a single french fry from one of the five boxes. Though we were walking back to the hotel in silence, it wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable one since one of us wasn't a fan of chatting whilst eating food and the other was using up all his energy just to resist his pangs of hunger.

Either way, I harnessed the power of The Giselle, who was the true master of getting through awkward silences and did my best to remain calm—reminding myself that conversation wasn't always necessary to fill empty spaces. Sometimes, empty was okay. I wonder if Miss Rachel thinks so too.

"There's something odd about fried food," she said out of nowhere, not really looking at me while she did. "Your fingers are coated in oil and you feel it wearing you down at the back of your throat but you can't stop eating it."

I blinked. Unsure if she had been referring to something figurative amidst her words but finding her sudden pensive mood rather agreeable. I-I mean, it's definitely better than her constant concern over God's plan, right?

"You must like fried food a lot then," I decided to follow up with a reply, hoping to prompt additional ones. "For you to walk such a long distance in the cold."

"I simply needed to some fresh air," she sighed as we crossed the street on green. "There were... many things I needed to think about."

I looked up at her in awe. L-looked up as in, only a little because she was wearing heels and it made her at least three inches taller. "That's nice! There are times when I'd like some fresh air too. I guess I just didn't really expect it to come from you... I-I mean, um, I mean it's very human of you. What am I saying—you are human, um. Sorry, I didn't mean to put it that way."

Miss Rachel fell silent for a moment, rounding the corner of a building. In the distance, the driveway of our accommodation came into view and she, too, seemed to notice that our journey was coming to its close.

"Chip Honeycutt."

"Y-y-yes??" Startled, I nearly jumped a foot into the air. But then I remembered that I had food and groceries and um, strawberry stuff in my arms and dropping all those were a no-go so I had to protecc them first.

She turned to me with eyes that were difficult to read. "How would you like your story to end?"

I paused and stared, blankly in return.

"U-um. I'm not sure what you me—"

"Are you the kind of person who'd write a landslide victory, ignoring the realistic value of it all just to have everything in your favour? Or are you the kind of person who would accept a terrible defeat. To lose everything you'd worked for up to now and still remain unchanged?" She sighed. "I don't know which one I am. Though I seem to be in the middle of a landslide victory, I don't know if I'd like to have everything in my favour anymore.

"Yet, I cannot stand the mere thought of defeat. I don't like to lose and, well, I have, by God's plan, never lost. I don't think I shall, in the coming years either." We arrived before the entrance of the hotel, at the bottom-most step past the driveway.

I considered her words seriously, knowing that it must have been hard for her to say such words to a stranger like myself. In a way, I couldn't help but treasure it regardless; that she was bearing her emotions to someone she didn't exactly wish to have in her life.

"I don't know too, Miss Rachel," I ended up confessing. "I don't think I like losing either. But then again, I don't think winning and losing carries the same meaning to us both. Still, it doesn't mean I'm not going to do my best in tomorrow's segment! Because I am going to."

I decided to thank her for the conversation then, before we'd go on to our separate ways after entering the lobby of the hotel. It was nice to hear a different perspective.

Miss Rachel didn't seem to have a specific response to my words; she merely nodded once and then, in a quipped and curt manner, wished me good luck for tomorrow.

*

[Extra]

"Will Mr. Chip Honeycutt-Jaxon please come to the registration counter at the ground floor? Your husband is waiting for you. Attention please. Will Mr. Chip Honeycutt-Jaxon please come to the..."

Initially, I hadn't registered my name coming through the announcement system of the hotel while I was humming to myself, alone in a rising elevator to my room floor when all of a sudden, I paused and paled. U-uwa-what?

Naturally, I rushed to the reception area of the lobby after quickly slowing down the elevator (pushing nearly all the buttons close to the elevator's nearest floor) and riding another down to the ground floor. There, I spotted Xander in sweat pants and one of his pyjama shirts (only if he actually wore them to sleep, that is).

"Xan? W-what's going on?" I called to him from afar, trying my best to hurry over without messing with the nicely-stacked boxes of fish and chips. Also, other loot from the convenience store. "Why was I called through the system?"

Upon closer inspection, my husband's face was pale as a sheet and he looked quite as though he'd gone through a series of terrifying nightmares. "Why didn't you pick up my calls? Where were you? Do you know how fucking worried I was?"

I froze up. "Oh no. But... but I didn't hear any—oh. It's dead," I placed my bags on the floor and fished out my phone to see a blank screen. "I!! I'm so sorry. I didn't notice. I took a detour after the station and went to get dinner. And then stuff happened and I kinda got delayed but I wasn't able to check my phone because my hands were full and I was talking to somebody, so... I'm so sorry for worrying you like that!" I reached up to fling my arms around his neck (tried to) and pull him closer.

"Fucking hell don't ever do that again," was all he mumbled whilst returning my hug and nearly crushing my head into his chest. "You were gone for two hours! When the convenience store is supposedly five minutes away."

"I know, I know," I patted his back like the baby he truly was, muffled words absorbed by his chest whilst everyone in the lobby stared at us publicly displaying affection for each other. Hm. "It won't happen ever again, okay? Giselle must have been worried too."

"She threw a fit when I locked her in her room to come down here and get them to call for you," my husband gave my nose a pinch. I sneezed. "Those fish and chips better be good."

"O-oh! They're really tasty. I can vouch for that," I laughed and he sighed, smiling.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Just a quick notice: there's about 2.5 chapters remaining for this book (0.5 is the epilogue) so I'm planning to complete the series by Valentine's day! :>

Next week, I'm updating BL and Flight School (if I can) so! Do look out for the updates :') And I'm trying to keep my health in check too, so. Hehe.

-Cuppie.