❛ The freckles in your smile in the back of my mind
Making me feel right ❜
-Everything Has Changed, Taylor Swift

Like with every holiday, my Thanksgivings are always spent at the Wilkerson's.

My Dad occasionally tags along, but he doesn't want to this year because he feels it would be awkward to see Francis after such a long time. I get it, he has some social problems, but Francis is the last person he should worry about. However, Thanksgiving at the Wilkerson's usually ends in disaster, so I don't blame him.

I wake up pretty early despite it not being a school day—8 AM—but my body's alarm clock has gotten so used to early mornings. I get out of bed and walk over to my window to open the curtains, my eyes involuntarily look into the boys room, empty—interesting.

So, after I'm done using the bathroom and getting dressed, I go over to their house, only to be greeted by the mouth-watering smell of food. I can't exactly place what it is, and it would be strange if they were having breakfast this early. I look over to the kitchen and it is as if it isn't even there, covered with sheets, but I can hear clattering. I move one of the sheets to go in, Hal, Reese, and Dewey seem to be cooking. Reese has an apron on and is working on something on the stove while Hal stands by the sink.

"What's all this?" I ask.

"No distractions!" Reese yells at me. Geez—it's eight in the morning, and he's running around the kitchen like a maniac. It looks like he's already preparing for Thanksgiving.

"What?" I laugh at his reaction, "I wanna help." I look around, I really know nothing about cooking, but at least it'll give me something to do. Reese turns to me when I say that and throws an apron my way, I catch it.

"Okay, I need some of these chives and parsley chopped." He grabs the two bouquets of vegetables and places them on a cutting board. "I need the chives finely chopped and the parsley minced, got it?" He points at me.

I shrug as I put the apron on, "Alright." I tie my hair up into a ponytail. Chopping vegetables is easy, I can do this. He hands me the knife.

"Okay, I'm done with the dishes," Hal says, sounding uninterested. He takes off his apron and throws it on the table that is littered with ingredients. What's Reese even going to do with all this food? It looks like so much. Hal walks out of the kitchen with a sigh.

"So, what do you have planned?" I ask as I begin chopping the chives into small pieces. Reese is grinding something with a mortar and pestle now.

"It's a surprise. It's going to be the best Thanksgiving feast ever, you'll see," he smiles. I trust him. Every dish he's ever made has been heavenly. After I'm done with the chives, I move on to the parsley, and it's a bit harder to chop it properly. I noticeably struggle and Reese looks over. "No, no, no, no. You have to be gentle with it." He drops what he was doing and walks over to me to take the knife from my hand to demonstrate. With a few swift moves he has some of the parsley into tiny little flakes. "See?"

He places the knife in my hand next but keeps his hand over mine. I try to contain myself at the contact, but then he takes a few steps to stand behind me and hold my other hand.

Okay, now I'm not sure I'm capable of containing myself so well.

He puppets my hand to show me how chopping parsley is really done. "You have to hold them close together," he says, right in my ear. Thank god he's behind me so he can't see me blush. There they are, those fiendish little butterflies again. He guides my hand as I try my best to cut it properly. Him being so close and pushing against my back is making me tense up. He must have felt me stiffen, and grip the knife harder. "No, relax. You can't hold the knife too tight." So I try to do what he instructs. As hard as it is to focus on what he's saying, I don't end up doing a terrible job at cutting the vegetable. "There ya go," he smiles proudly at me and he steps aside. My shoulders visibly relax when he does.

"Whew, I did it," I laugh it off, it's kind of silly how I'm so bad at something as simple as that, while he's so passionate and good at it. I watch as his hands continue working on grinding a garlic clove and then squeezing a lemon. It's strange, I find watching him entertaining.

It's even kind of... hot.

Hot—that's a new adjective, but it's a suitable one at that. It is hot how good he is at cooking, how he looks doing it. I try to repress feelings like that when I'm around him as much as possible, but I can't deny it right now. He's hot.

If our current situation wasn't what it is, he'd lick his fingers while looking at me, and then he would purposely get something on my face just so he could wipe it off with his thumb. And then, when we're close enough, he would kiss me; and he would taste like all the cinnamon and sugar he was trying when preparing the dessert. He would even lift me up onto the counter, and it would go from there.

But of course he doesn't, so I just yearningly watch as his hands work their magic. I have to steady myself, the thought of him kissing me right now making me lose my balance.

This isn't a romance novel, this is Reese Wilkerson I'm talking about and I, Tessa Smythe: two teens from a small town up at 8 AM in the morning preparing the feast for a Thanksgiving that will most probably end terribly. I can't keep having thoughts like this, ones that make me grip the counter so I don't fall.

He picks up the cutting board which has the chopped chives and parsley on it and slides them into a pan. I have no clue what he's making, but it sure smells good.

"Tess?" he says as he continues working.

"Yeah, Reese?" I'm still in shock at what I had just imagined, my voice comes out shaky.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asks. This is making me nervous.

"Sure." I pretend to be casual despite his wording.

"What do you do when you're not hanging out with us?" What is he talking about? I bite my lip in apprehension.

"Where is this coming from?" I let out an anxious laugh. It's kind of embarrassing, I pretty much do nothing but sit alone and write when I'm not hanging out with his family.

He gives me a few fleeting glances. "I don't know, I've just been wondering, you know. You're sometimes late during lunch and stuff..." He doesn't look at me as he speaks, instead looking down at the food he's preparing.

"Well, you don't have to worry, no one's stealing me from you," I laugh. "I'll make sure not to be late next time. It's always my teachers making me stay or my friends stopping me, it's not a big deal." He silently nods at that. "Why? Do you have any friends you're not telling me about?" I lean against the counter and give him an inquisitive look.

He shakes his head with a bashful smile. "You know me better than that."

I chuckle. "Yeah, and you should know me better than to think I have some secret friends. Really, I'm just as pathetic as you." Why on earth would he think I have a group of friends that I keep from him?

He gives me an offended look. "Hey, that's just because the guys at school are idiots," he points a finger at me.

I laugh harder. "Alright—geez." I see him smile as he turns back to the squash he's slicing.

For the next few hours, he occasionally asks me to do simple things to help and calls an exasperated Hal to do the dishes once again. I leave the kitchen at one point to greet Francis and Piama. He instructs Hal to take out the turkey and the next thing I know, he pulls out a huge slimy fish. We're gonna be eating that thing?

"You're gonna put our dinner inside that... monster?!" Hal stammers. It sure is a monster alright.

"It's a MonkFish," Reese defends, as if we would know what that is. "The juices of the monk fish will base the turkey, the flavor from the turkey will saturate the fish." Yeah, I'm still not sold on this idea. "All melding into one fantastic dish."

Hal shakes his head. "Reese, this doesn't seem like a really good idea." I nod to agree with him.

"Yeah, Dad, maybe you're right. Maybe I have no idea what I'm talking about." picks up a spoon from the bowl he was mixing a sauce in and places it in Hal's mouth. I've noticed him doing that a few times now, and Hal falls for it every single time.

"You know that really shouldn't work!"

Reese crouches down to the fish with a smile. "Listen my ugly beauty, yesterday, you were sucking the scum off the bottom of the sea. Tonight, you're gonna tango with the gods!"

He holds the fish's mouth to mimic it speaking, "yes, master, I will be delicious for you." I can't help but laugh, he's ridiculous. But if he says that monkfish will make our turkey taste better, then who am I to disagree?

Hal leaves the kitchen when Dewey comes back home from getting some extra ingredients for Reese. Reese is cutting some more vegetables and asks me to stir a pot while he does that. When Hal comes back, Reese yells at him, "Dad, what are these?" He holds up a bowl of chopped onions.

"Minced onions," the older man answers.

"Minced? I specifically asked for diced!" He scolds and throws the bowl into the trash, it makes a loud clang that almost makes me flinch. "Come on, Dad!"

"Don't take that tone with me, Reese," Hal orders.

"This isn't fun," Dewey, who is sitting at the table and peeling potatoes, says. Okay, it might not be the most exciting activity, but it gives me something to do! And... It is nice watching Reese cook.

"Fun?! Dewey, this is not fun! Neither one of you seems to understand, we are not playing games here, there are lives at stake!" Alright, maybe don't go that far.

"No, there aren't," Dewey remarks.

Reese shakes his head. "Okay... but it's very important, we're making something special. Something great. Something beautiful." He motions with his hands.

"Why is my wallet in my other pocket?" Hal mumbles as he puts on the apron again. Sneaky Reese.

"Can we stay focused, Dad?"

"There was eighty dollars in here!" Hal looks into the empty wallet.

"I had to! The cheese course was a joke!"

"Reese, you are in big trouble!" He points the empty wallet at the boy. "I have had it with this—I'm through!" He takes off the wallet and begins to walk away, but then turns back. "With the helping part, I'm still doing the eating part."

"Go! I don't need you, I still have Tess and Dewey! And they're twice the assistants that you'll ever be!" Reese yells as Hal leaves and turns back to us, looking at Dewey who's doing a lousy job at peeling the potatoes. "Ugh!" he exclaims. I sigh and continue stirring the pot until he asks me to stop.

A few hours later, all four of my limbs are cramped up. Reese, however, is still going. I haven't seen him rest once since we started! I take off the apron and leave the kitchen to see what the others are up to, and they're not doing anything better. If Malcolm was here, I'd hang out with him, but he's at some stupid party.

It's Thanksgiving! Is there not anything to do that isn't related to food?!

It's going to be 6 PM soon, which marks twelve hours since Reese started preparing the feast. How is he not done yet? I see Lois and Piama already setting the plates on the nicely furnished table.

"Tess, is Reese done? It's five thirty already." Lois places a hand on her hip as she reads her watch.

I get up. "I don't know, he should be." I go over to the kitchen and pull up one of the sheets.

"Hey, Reese, you done?" I ask, but he's clearly not. He's stirring a pot with one hand as he sautés vegetables with the other.

"Tess, you're back. Good, I need you." He grabs my hand and places a spatula in my hand. "Here, stir this pot." He quickly turns around and I do as told. When the hell are we going to eat? I'm really getting irritated. And hungry.

"Alright, alright." He pauses for a minute to think. "I just have to stuff the acorns and squash rings with roasted pepper and polenta and sear the scalps with—"

A ringing sound interrupts him. It's the oven. "The monkfish!"

He scrambles and opens drawers to search for something. "Where are the oven mitts?!"

"I can look, calm down!" I say from where I'm standing, he doesn't have to be so frantic.

"No, keep stirring... No place mats, no towels," he continues looking through every drawer. "I need something!"

I leave the pot, "I'll go get a towel from the bathroom." He places a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

"No, there isn't enough time! It has to come out at exactly five thirty-eight. Not five thirty-seven, not five thirty-nine." Alright, then. I roll my eyes.

"Well, what are you gonna do?!" He's making me even more impatient.

"There is only one thing I can do." He walks over to the oven and opens it. Oh my god, is he going to do what I think he's going to do?

"Reese, are you crazy?!" I yell, but it is as if he doesn't hear me. He grabs the aluminum wrapped fish with his bare hands, screaming.

"Make some space!" He shouts. Now I'm getting panicked.

"Where?!" I look around in disarray.

"Move the oven mitts!" They've been right there the whole time! I don't have the time to think about that as I quickly move them and he drops the heavy fish on the table. He begins swatting his arms to relieve the burning sensation, his face contorting. I look at him in concern, I can see that his hands are red.

My brows furrow. "Come on, you idiot." I grab him by his wrists and move him towards the sink to run some cool water on his burnt hands. He winces at the contact. "I'll go get some ointment and gauze." I sigh and leave the kitchen, he leans over the sink to keep his hands under the water. They better have what I need lying around. With all the injuries these boys get, I wouldn't be surprised if they ran out. Luckily, I find a tube of ointment with the last squeeze in it, and a pretty full roll of gauze.

I go back to Reese with what I need in hand and he's sitting on the table with a displeased face. I can see he even tried unwrapping the fish from the aluminum. "Here." I sit down in front of him and place his hand on my lap so I can put some ointment on his palm and wrap it. When the cold ointment touches his skin, he sucks in air through his teeth.

"It hurts so bad, I shouldn't have done that," he says.

I scoff, "you say that everytime." He feigns a sob. I move on to his other hand, placing that one on my lap, and he rests his head on my shoulder. He does that so often, I don't think he comprehends the effect it has on me. My stomach flips as I gently hold his hand to wrap it. When I finish, his forehead remains resting on my shoulder, and I hold his head there for a few moments, resting my cheek on his head. "You're exhausted, aren't you?" I softly say.

I feel him nod under my hand. My fingers lightly pet his hair. I take a deep breath, I can smell the product in his hair. "Well, let's get this over with so we can eat and you can get some rest... They're all waiting for you out there." He lifts his head up and my hand that was at the back of his head slides to cup his cheek. Our eyes lock, my stomach flips again. His skin is always so soft, I subconsciously swipe my thumb across his cheek. I look at his lips. As usual, they look oh so tempting. I take that thought as my cue to remove my hand and get up so he can continue working.

"Come on, dazzle them," I say with a smile before walking away.

He immediately gets back to finishing off the feast and I leave the kitchen to tell everyone to sit and wait for the food.

When we sit at the table, it's terribly awkward.

"Where's Malcolm? He knows he's supposed to be here, this is Thanksgiving," Lois says. Everyone sits idly, awaiting the food.

"Yeah, he certainly wouldn't wanna miss this," Hal drones.

Reese comes out of the kitchen and I perk up when I see him. It's going to be seven soon, everyones getting tired of waiting. "Well, I've done it. The feast is about to start," he smiles. He looks so proud.

"It's about time," Francis says.

"I'm not even hungry," Piama adds.

"Can I be excused?" Dewey says before Reese walks in with two appetizing plates. He keeps bringing in more, each dish more appetizingly garnished than the other. Finally, he brings in the turkey, and it looks fantastic. Everyone looks at the table in awe.

"The turkey monkfish," he says and everyone claps. This is nice, not one big fight yet, and a beautiful feast to top it off. "All say grace?" he asks and extends his bandaged hands to me and Lois.

"Thank you Lord for giving me the talent to express my love for my family in the only way I know how, amen," he closes his eyes as he says, and I look up at him in amusement.

"Amen," Hal says. Reese finally sits between Lois and I and I flash him a reassuring smile, as if to say 'good job'. As soon as we begin to get ready to eat, Malcolm walks in the house.

"Hey, party people," he slurs.

"Oh my god, you're drunk. What on earth is wrong with you?" Lois says. But really, why is she surprised? What else would he be doing at a party?

"I would tell you what's wrong with me... on earth. The reason why I drink is because I'm a coward. I'm probably gay." Woah, where'd that come from? "I let a perfect opportunity slip right through my fingers, and you know, I thought I'd top it off by getting stinkin' drunk. What do you think about your golden boy now, Mom?" He waves his hands uncharacteristically as he speaks.

"What golden boy? Get in your room, I'll deal with you later."

"I will go to my room when I am finished with what I have to say." He leans on the table.

Oh, no.

A few gags, and there he is, throwing up the contents of his stomach into the Thanksgiving turkey. Everyone gets up in disgust, and I do too. It's a gross sight. The last thing we'd want to witness at a dinner table. Reese looks at everybody in disappointment.

"Wait, some of the shrimp is still good," he says in desperation. I have my hand clasped over my mouth as I look away and wait for Malcolm to finish. Ugh.

He's finally done and throws the turkey on the ground, stumbling over to the bathroom. I knew this Thanksgiving was going too well—that there had to be a catch.

Everyone leaves to their rooms and it's just Reese and I in the living room now. He's still standing by the table, a disappointed frown on his face. He spent all that time and practically sacrificed his hands for nothing, pity takes over me as I walk over to him. My hand goes up to rub circles around his slumped back.

"It's fine, they'll eat this tomorrow, or later—whatever," I try to comfort him. He huffs. " I, for one, am not gonna let anything get in my way of eating that shrimp." I try to lighten the mood and pick one shrimp out to place it in my mouth, giving him a thumbs up sign. He tries to force a smile, but a frown is still painted all over his face. "Okay, let's take everything back to the kitchen." He nods and we begin picking up the dishes.

When I'm in the kitchen, I regain some of my appetite and take a few bites here and there. He's so incredibly talented, I don't think I've ever had better food. Even with the unfortunate circumstances, it pulls through. Somehow, he always pulls through.

AN:

just wanna state that reese and tess are 16 here, so don't be too alarmed lol. they're old enough but not THAT old. yk, for future reference for when things... happen between them. they're turning 17 later on this season too! and when it gets to mid season 6 they're officially 18.