Chapter 48: His Cute Panda

< Shirley >
"I am dead." I plopped on the couch after putting the last bag of groceries in the kitchen.
"Since you are dead, let's arrange your funeral, shall we?" Dylan commented.
"Unfortunately, I am not going to die so soon." I giggled and laid on my back.
"Get up. We have work to do." Grabbing my arm, he pulled me up in a sitting position.
"How come you aren't tired at all?"
"How come you're so tired?"
"Ugh! Your stamina is high and mine is low."
"No, you lack devotion. That's all there is to it." He dragged me up to my bedroom and pushed me inside. "Make it look like a room, not a trash can. Just look at all the stuff scattered. There's not even enough space to walk around."
"It's my home, what are you getting so worked up about?" I asked, putting my hand on my hips.
"Since you agreed to accompany me in an assassination, we have to complete everything before that. I am not ready to lend you a hand tomorrow again," he declared.
"Okay. Geez, Mr. Perfect." I rolled my eyes.
"Now Ms. Imperfect, start your work," he urged.
"I will. But kiss me on the cheek." I grinned sheepishly. Now that I was sure about my feelings for him, I could do whatever I wanted with him. I will let my feelings for him be known through my actions.
Dylan's reaction was as if the sky broke down on him. "Wha—C—can you repeat that?"
"Give me a kiss on the cheek and I will do everything perfectly."
"Have you gone crazy? Ugh! Never mind. You were always crazy. It's just a peck on the cheek, nothing more." He quickly pecked my left cheek and went away, not before closing my bedroom door.
I was left dazed when his soft lips touched my cheek. I climbed my bed and started jumping on it.
I started gibbering to myself in excitement, "Today cheek kiss, tomorrow kiss on the lips, then someday he will love me back. We can get married and live a happy life. Yay! Oh, my goodness! What are these thoughts? Does love make you go crazy? But I was already crazy."
I stopped jumping and squealing. "Is it even normal for me to get so excited? Or am I just abnormal? Well, who the hell cares?" I grinned ear to ear and continued jumping in celebration.
Geez, stop overreacting. Get to work, or else he is going to put a bullet in your head even before the start of your love story, poked my subconscious.
You are so dumb sometimes. Our love story had already begun when I first met him, I answered, silencing my nagging subconscious.
I giggled and picked up a carton box. "I am going to shine in this room."
___
"Wow, I am impressed," Dylan complimented, looking around my bedroom which was neatly arranged and looked like a five-star hotel room.
Indeed the room wasn't as big as my previous room. But I liked it more because of its blue and grey shading. I put on a smug look and bragged, "There's nothing Shirley Hamilton can't do."
"Whatever floats your boat." I narrowed my eyes at him while he continued speaking, "Anyways, it's getting late. The party starts at eleven. I am going home to get ready, and you should do the same." He turned around to leave.
"Why so late? And what about dinner?" I asked, holding his hand.
"Because it's not your regular party. And what about dinner?" He raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"I am going to cook dinner."
"And so?"
"You will be the first person to taste my first homemade food." I smiled widely.
"Did I hear that right?" he asked with a shocked face. Dylan started coughing when I nodded. "Oh, gosh, I am having an asthma attack. Where is my inhaler?" He started looking around for his non-existent inhaler.
"You don't have asthma," I deadpanned, shooting daggers at him.
"Oh, I don't? I felt like I had."
"Stop being so paranoid, Dylan. You aren't going to die by eating my food," I exclaimed but he paid me to no avail and dialed someone's number.
"Hello, fire brigade. There's gonna be a fire accident at—" I snatched his phone out of his hand and threw it on my bed.
"What do you think you are doing?"
"I am calling the fire brigade in advance," he hollered, trying to get away from me but I had a firm grip around his arm.
"Why would we need the fire brigade?"
"Because there's going to be a fire accident in the kitchen in the next thirty minutes," he stated.
I shook my head at his ridiculousness. "Even if there's a fire accident, we can both die together, right? Not everyone gets the chance to die with me." I winked at him and he shivered at the thought.
"I have no wish to die with you," he argued.
"Then live with me."
"That's even worse," Dylan responded, and I pouted. I had meant it.
Putting that aside, I grinned and dragged him to the kitchen with me.
"What shall I cook?" I hummed, looking around for some easy-to-cook items.
"Cook yourself and let me go."
"No." I found the recipe book I had brought today. I looked over the pages and my eyes fell on pancakes. "Pancakes are easy to make, right?"
"How shall I know?" Dylan grunted.
"You can cook, can't you?"
"Yeah, I can. But I haven't made pancakes in ages, so I don't remember." I elbowed him. "Ow! It's easy, alright?"
"Good boy." I grinned and left his arm and went to look for the ingredients. "You can run away now, you know?"
"If I wanted to, I could have done it a long time ago. But I know with certainty, if I am not here, you are going to burn down the whole kitchen and die."
I chuckled as he leaned against the counter casually, watching me carefully. I gathered all the ingredients and looked at them. "Flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, vanilla essence, honey, and milk. Everything is done," I chirped.
"You are going to make pancakes without eggs? Wow, what a genius," Dylan commented bemusedly.
"Well, someone said that they don't remember anything." I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Adding eggs is basic. That's a common freaking sense," he scolded.
I let out a nervous laugh. I took a bowl and poured the sugar, salt, eggs, and flour according to the recipe book. I started batting the batter with a fork.
"Argh, my hands are aching." I let out a frustrated groan after two minutes of beating it.
"Shirley..." Dylan called out my name in a low tone. I glanced at him. He had that dumbstruck look on his face.
"What?"
"Why are you so fucking dumb?" he asked in a speechless tone as if he couldn't believe his eyes.
"Why?"
"Why are you using a fork when you have a fucking beater machine?" The fork slipped out of my hand when I remembered about the beater.
"Shit!"
"Gosh, you are so dumb sometimes," he cried out and buried his face in his hands.
And by the way, it was not my fault. The recipe book didn't mention it. It just said 'now mix everything'. How was I supposed to know what?
"Hey, stop it." I hissed and took out the beater machine. I started using it on the batter. With the help of a beater, the ingredients were mixed easily.
While I was beating the batter, my hair was falling over my face again and again. I blew some air to get it out of my face, but the damn hair strand wouldn't just stay at its place. I needed to remove it before it got tangled with the machine.
Suddenly those strands of hair were tucked behind my ear by another hand. I glanced at Dylan to find his grey eyes boring into my blue ones with slight concern.
"You should tie your hair before the cooking, silly girl," he said softly.
I was about to thank him but an idea popped into my mind. I stopped beating the batter and rushed to my room.
"Where are you going?" I heard him yell.
I rummaged through my cupboard and took out an apron and a chef hat. Adrian bought it for me as a souvenir since it represented me accurately, at least that's what he said. I never wore it on because I never tried cooking before.
I tied my hair in a messy bun and put on the hat and apron. I went back to the kitchen to find Dylan adding something to the batter.
"Are you adding poison?" I narrowed my eyes. He flinched at my sudden appearance and glanced at me. All of a sudden, he froze. Confusion arose in my head. "What's wrong?" I asked. Not a second after that, he burst out laughing.
"W- wha- what is- is that ridi- ridicu-lous outfit?" he managed to ask between his laughter.
"Why? Does it look weird?" I pouted.
"N—no." He continued laughing. He banged his fist on the wall while laughing like crazy.
"Stop laughing," I said in a serious tone, but he paid no attention. "Dylan, I said stop laughing," I warned. As much as I loved his laugh, it was getting under my skin at that moment.
"I can't. You are just so adorable, Shirley." He walked up to me and pulled my cheeks. "You look like a cute panda. And it suits you perfectly cause it's just like you. 'SAY NO TO DOING THINGS' that's something you would say all the time."
"It's cute, okay?" I huffed.
I found the apron and hat cute. The apron was in a shade of rosy pink with a sleeping panda in the middle and saying 'SAY NO TO DOING THINGS'. The chef hat also had a panda on it with my name carved beside it.
I didn't get it. Why did he find it so ridiculous?
I pouted while he continued laughing like a maniac.
"Oh, gosh, I am dying," Dylan murmured and stopped laughing for a while. When he looked at me, he again started laughing. He pulled my cheeks once again, cooing me. "Aww, my cute little panda." My anger was rising and rising.
When I had had enough of him, I grabbed the packet of flour and poured it over his head. His silky black hair and his handsome face immediately turned into white. His tee and black jeans were covered in flour as well. His denim jacket got spared since he had taken it off a while ago.
"What the fuck?" Dylan shouted, looking like a ghost right out of a comedy movie.
I burst out laughing and started rolling on the floor. "Oh, my gosh!" I kept cackling like a maniac and he gaped at me, being dumbfounded.
"Shirley Hamilton, I am going to kill you."
"You had it coming." I continued rolling on the floor because I couldn't stop laughing. He looked so hilarious, after all.
"You just wait." I didn't see what Dylan was doing as my eyes were closed. Soon, I felt some liquid fall on my cheek. I jolted my eyes open to see that he was pouring Hershey's chocolate syrup on me.
"A waste of good syrup!" I screamed and stood up, trying to snatch the bottle back.
"No way!" He splashed the syrup right on my face. "That's what you get for pouring flour on me."
"Dylan, don't waste my syrup," I warned, trying to snatch it back. He kept taking steps backward.
"I don't care. I can buy thousands of bottles like this and give you, Shirley."
"It's an insult to Hershey's!" I hollered. His height was his advantage. But I wasn't that shorter than him. Just five inches.
I jumped up, trying to catch it but ended up losing my balance. I caught his shoulder but he slipped on the flour which was scattered on the floor. Both of us landed on the floor with a thud.
"Oww, my back!" Dylan winced as I fell on top of him.
"You deserved it, idiot," I taunted once I managed to catch my breath.
He grabbed some flour from the floor and threw it on my face once again. I sneezed at him.
"Eww!" he squeaked, making a disgusted face.
I brushed my chocolaty fingers on his cheek which was covered with flour. He still had the syrup in his hand, so he poured it on the floor, then he applied some in his hand and brushed it on my neck, making me shiver.
My cheeks started heating up. His hand slipped under my tee and applied some on my waist. I felt pleasure as his fingers brushed against my bare skin.
"But you know, you look really tempting with chocolate syrup all over your face," Dylan said all of a sudden, making me look into his eyes.
"Why? Wanna have a taste?" I offered.
"I don't mind." He licked the chocolate from the corner of my lips, making my heart skip a beat. "Tasty."
Goddammit, Dylan, why did he have to be so blunt about everything? Why was I in love with this man out of all the other men in this world?