Chapter 54: A Day off for Cooking

Chapter 54: Chapter 54: A Day off for Cooking

Garrett woke up to the system’s usual quiet presence at the edge of his mind before he’d even fully opened his eyes.

[TIME REMAINING: 3 DAYS 16 HOURS 43 MINUTES]

He registered it the way he registered most things about the system now, a fact sitting there rather than a demand pulling at him. Three days. He didn’t dwell on it, didn’t spiral into calculating what that meant or didn’t mean. It had become part of the background of his life at this point, the same way rent or laundry was, something to be aware of without letting it dictate every waking thought.

He lay there a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, before deciding today wasn’t going to be a school day.

It wasn’t a decision that took much deliberation. Freya was coming over later today, and if he was actually going to follow through on the whole cooking thing properly instead of throwing something together at the last minute, he needed the day free to sort it out. Groceries. The flat. Whatever else needed doing before she showed up expecting an omelet good enough to justify the bet.

He got up eventually, went through a slower version of his usual morning routine, coffee in hand instead of rushed down before heading out the door.

Around eleven, his phone rang.

Daniel.

Garrett let it ring twice before answering. "Hey."

"Dude, where are you?" Daniel’s voice came through fast, a little too loud, the sound of the campus courtyard behind him. "You missed first period. You rarely miss first period."

"Home."

"Home why?"

Garrett considered the truth for half a second, decided the lie was easier. "Not feeling great. Think I’ve got a fever coming on."

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough for Garrett to know it hadn’t landed the way he wanted it to.

"You sound completely fine," Daniel said, flat, unconvinced. "Like, suspiciously fine. Nobody with a fever sounds that unbothered."

"I’m managing through it."

"Garrett."

"Daniel."

"You’re lying to me right now, aren’t you."

Garrett exhaled, giving up the pretense with a small, resigned huff of breath that was almost a laugh. "Yeah. I’m lying."

"I knew it." Daniel sounded far too pleased with himself for someone who hadn’t actually solved anything. "So what’s the real reason?"

"Just didn’t feel like going in today."

"That’s it? That’s the whole excuse?"

"That’s the whole excuse."

Daniel laughed, easy and unbothered, the kind of reaction that only really worked because it was Daniel. "Alright, fair enough. Not gonna lecture you about it." A beat passed, his tone shifting just slightly, something knowing creeping into it. "Just make sure whatever you’re actually doing today is worth skipping for. You’re not exactly the type to blow off school for nothing."

"It’s worth it," Garrett said, keeping it simple, no further explanation offered.

"That’s suspiciously specific for a guy who claims he’s just relaxing."

"Bye, Daniel."

"Wait, is this about—"

Garrett ended the call before Daniel could finish the question, a small, dry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

He set the phone down, finished his coffee, and got up to actually start the day.

Garrett spent a good chunk of the late morning just thinking it through, sitting at his counter with his phone in hand, scrolling through a few recipes before settling on something.

Not chicken Alfredo again. He’d already done that once, and repeating it felt like taking the easy way out. Something different, then, something that would actually hold up if Freya was going to judge every bite of it the way she’d promised.

Creamy garlic butter chicken, roasted potatoes, something green on the side to round it out. Simple enough that he could actually pull it off without disaster, impressive enough that it wouldn’t look like he’d phoned it in.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out, the walk to the store familiar by now, same route he’d taken a few days ago when none of this had been on his mind yet.

The store greeted him the same way it always did, bright overhead lighting stretching across wide aisles, the low hum of the refrigerated sections carrying under everything else. Shoppers moved past with carts, some in a hurry, others drifting slowly the way he intended to today. Somewhere near the front, the bakery section filled the air with the faint, warm smell of bread, mixing with the sharper scent of fresh produce further in.

He passed the electronics section on his way toward groceries, the same aisle where he’d found Freya staring down two mediocre laptops a few days ago.

The produce section came next, rows of vegetables arranged neatly under the bright lighting, everything sorted by type and color in a way that made the whole section look almost staged. Garrett moved through it slowly, actually looking this time instead of grabbing whatever was closest.

He picked through the potatoes first, turning a few over in his hand, checking for soft spots or bruising before settling on a handful that felt right. Then the vegetables for the side, green beans mostly, a few that looked fresher than the rest, avoiding the ones that had started to wilt near the edges.

An employee nearby was restocking one of the shelves, sliding boxes of packaged herbs into place, and Garrett grabbed what he needed from the display before it disappeared behind the restock entirely. Garlic, a small container of fresh herbs, a jar of something he thought might round out the sauce.

He moved on to the meat section next, glass display cases lined with packaged cuts, and took his time comparing a couple of options before picking chicken that looked like it would actually cook the way he wanted it to.

By the time he made his way toward the checkout, his basket had filled out properly, ingredients he’d actually thought about instead of just grabbed. He set everything on the belt, paid, and bagged it himself while the cashier scanned through the rest of the line behind him.

Outside, the bags settled against his side as he started the walk home, the weight of it more than he usually carried back from a normal grocery run.

It wasn’t a big deal, technically. Just dinner. Just ingredients for a meal he’d offered to make almost as a joke a few days ago.

But he’d spent more time in that store today than he usually did for a week’s worth of groceries, and he hadn’t really questioned why until he was already halfway home with the bags in hand.

Garrett let himself back in, bags settling on the counter with a soft rustle, and started putting everything away.

Chicken in the fridge. Potatoes and vegetables in the drawer beneath it. Herbs and the rest lined up on the counter where he’d actually be able to find them later instead of digging through a cupboard mid-cook.

Once the groceries were sorted, he stood there for a second, looking around the apartment the way he usually didn’t bother to.

The mail he’d left stacked on the counter three days ago suddenly looked like clutter instead of just mail. A jacket draped over the back of a chair, fine on any other day, now seemed like something that should probably be hung up properly. He caught himself eyeing the small gap of dust along the windowsill, something he genuinely could not remember ever noticing before in the entire time he’d lived here.

He didn’t think much of it. Just moved the mail into a drawer, hung the jacket where it belonged, wiped down the windowsill with a cloth from under the sink before he could talk himself out of caring about it.

The kitchen got more attention than the rest. He cleared the counter properly, made sure there was actual space to work once he started cooking later, moved a couple of things that had been sitting there for no real reason other than convenience. He checked the cupboard for the right pans, made sure the good knife was actually sharp instead of just assuming it was, confirmed he had enough oil and butter to get through the recipe without a last-minute run back to the store.

He pulled the ingredients back out briefly, laying them across the counter, running through the meal in his head. Chicken first, seared properly before the sauce came together. Potatoes roasted separately, timed so everything finished close enough together that nothing sat around going cold. The vegetables last, quick enough not to overcook while he handled the rest.

It wasn’t complicated. He’d made harder things before. But he still walked through it once, mentally, checking that he had a plan solid enough not to be scrambling later with someone actually watching him work.

He didn’t start cooking. Freya wasn’t due for hours yet, and there was no point getting everything ready this early only to have it sitting around losing whatever it was supposed to have going for it.

Instead, he put the ingredients back where they belonged, gave the apartment one more look, and decided it was good enough.

Not spotless. Not staged. Just reasonably put together, the kind of place someone wouldn’t feel like they were interrupting by walking into.

Garrett glanced at the clock, then toward the kitchen one more time, the ingredients waiting quietly for their turn.

The rest of it would start when she got here.