NAOMI'S POV:

He sliced the roasted chicken he cooked while I was at school, first breaking it down to its basic components; two breasts, thighs, drumsticks and wings. Within a matter of minutes, Mr. Davis had completely dismantled everything, pulling the meat from the bones and shredding it across the wooden cutting-board.

"Onions and carrots?" He asked, wiping his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder.

"Of course."

"Are you able to cut them?"

It seemed like an unnecessary question, but Mr. Davis and I have never cooked together before so just because I was capable of handling a knife, didn't mean I knew how.

"Yes, my mom used to let me cut all the vegetables for dinner." I slid one of the other cutting boards he laid out in front of me while he went to the drawer and handed me a knife.

"Just be careful."

"I have it all under control." I smirked, feeling somewhat cocky.

I began with the bulk carrots, slicing them about a quarter-inch, while he added some butter to a large, red Dutch oven pot sitting on the stove.

"Is two enough?" I looked down at the small amount in front of me, I was used to doing this for four people.

"Two is plenty, and I'd say one onion is enough and..." he narrowed his eyes, "two stalks of celery is good."

I nodded, returning my attention to cutting. Setting aside the carrots, I grabbed the stalks, folded them over each other and single sliced them down the middle. There was something so satisfying about cutting vegetables that I never understood. Taking something bulk and breaking it down to small components, even without analyzing them, to reform them into something whole again was very pleasing to me.

Chomping down, I kept my hand steady as I tried to keep the pieces as even as possible. I was so focused that I hadn't even realized Mr. Davis already heated the butter and olive oil in the pot.

Onions were my favorite, not only to eat, but to cut as well. I loved the intricate strategies of slicing them; cutting off the ends, slicing it in hand before peeling the skin off, and then turning it face-down to slice parallel, vertical and then horizontal lines across. It was such a genius strategy that allowed the slicer to make the onion fall apart in neatly, almost identical squares within a matter of seconds.

"Alright, all finished." I said after I did the same to the second half.

Looking up, Mr. Davis was puzzled as he stared at me.

"W-what?" I asked, setting the knife down.

He smiled, looking as if he were going to burst into laughter. "Nothing, nothing at all. You just seemed so into it."

"Oh I," I blushed in embarrassment. "I just really like cooking."

"That's good, I'm glad I found something else you like to do." His sentence seemed more for himself than for me. "So, would you like to cook the vegetables?"

"I can do that." I gathered everything on my cutting board and took it over to the stove, first tossing in the onions.

"Make sure to cook the onions until they're soft before adding the celery and carrots."

I nodded, stirring everything consistently with the wooden spoon he gave me.

"While we're waiting for that," He took a seat at the bar stool. "how is school going?"

"Good, nothing really new to report." I shrugged.

"Are you liking your classes?"

"Yeah, they're really interesting. Especially Journalism, Haylee is so funny..."

"Who's Haylee?" He interrupted.

"She's someone I met in the class, she's in the same grade as me but she just transferred in."

He nodded, "Do you have any other classes with her?"

"Yeah, a few. But most of our free time to talk is in Journalism."

"That makes sense, what about your other friends? I bet it's been nice to see them again since summer break." He assumed optimistically.

I haven't told Mr. Davis about our little secret spreading throughout the school. It had leaked from person to person like internal dominos as everyone is obsessed with the life of a Braxton student. The Academy is very popular in this town, almost everyone knows about it, and I'm certainly not the only student who has attended it....I'm just the first to be abandoned there.

I took a deep breath as I noticed he was waiting for an answer. "It was nice to see them....it was just a little awkward trying to explain why I didn't see them over the summer or why I," Adding the carrots, garlic, and celery, I felt a drop in my stomach. "or why I won't be seeing them much outside of school."

I kept my eyes focused on the inside of the pot, continuously stirring even though I didn't have to.

"You know," He began, waiting for me to turn around. "I know it'll be hard explaining the transition, especially for those who've been to your former home and met your parents, but I don't have a problem with you spending time with your friends outside of school."

He managed to get me to face him, disrupting my necessary focus.

"If you want to invite friends over, or if you'd like to go to their house, all you have to do is ask."

"Really?" I asked softly, trying to ignore the greedy feeling circulating inside my head.

"Really, really. As long as you maintain your grades, keep up with chores and don't get into trouble...." He eyed me. "then you can spend time with your friends. I want you to have a healthy, normal social life, outside of the Academy."

"Thanks Mr. Davis, I appreciate that." I said kindly, despite having mixed feelings about the situation.

He shot me a smile and nodded. "You're welcome."

Even though everyone knows, I'm not sure how most of my friends would react to the transition. Especially since I haven't even coped with it yet. But that's why I hardly speak to them anymore...Haylee is the only one who still acts normal around. Everyone else puts on a show, but they're horrible at hiding their curiosity...and their pity.

"I think this is ready for the broth." I said quickly to change subjects.

"Alright," He stood from his chair and walked back to the island. "turn the heat down to low."

I did as he said. Stepping to the side so he could put everything in; chicken broth, juice from the oven pan when he roasted the chicken, salt and pepper, and some parsley.

"We'll let that simmer some before putting in the chicken." He carried the cutting-board over for when it'll be ready.

"Where are the noodles?" I looked over the counter, not seeing any.

"We're going to make them." He dried his hands while grinning.

I smiled, "Did you major in cooking at college?"

"Hmph," He chuckled. "no. Audrey showed me how to do all this, I was a lot better at meats and proteins...but she showed me how to make pasta, soups and casseroles."

"What about baking? Do you do any of that?"

Suppressing a loud laugh, he shook his head. "Absolutely not. The last time I tried baking, I caught my hand towel on fire."

My eyes widened, "Wow. I'll be sure to remember to do the baking in this house."

"You should, you'd be better off than I am."

I followed him over to the island, where he left a clear section specifically for this. "I've never made pasta homemade, is it hard?"

"Not if you have small hands." He looked back at me, bringing out the pasta machine and clamping it to the edge of the island.

I looked down at his hands, and immediately recognized how large they were. I already knew that from receiving punishments.

"Yes," A smile appeared on his face, "it's hard for me."

"How do we start?" I went to the opposite side of where he was standing.

"We're each going to make our dough." He looked to me, waiting for approval which I did through a nod. "So, two cups of 00 flour," Grabbing the cup, he scooped one pile for himself and then one for me.

"Okay." I rubbed my hands against my apron to make sure they were dry.

"Start by making a little well inside," Swirling his finger around the center of his pile, he looked to me to make sure I was listening. "Don't make it through, you want some at the bottom."

"Got it."

"Then we add six eggs; four whole eggs and two egg yolks. Whisked." He grabbed a small bowl set off to the side by the sink, and added some to the mixture and then some to mine, carefully pouring it inside of the well. "You're going to want to swirl your finger around the center, slowing adding in flour from the sides." He demonstrated.

Holy crap. That was my first thought. His wife clearly made a hobby, maybe even a career, out of cooking. My parents never did anything like this before. We mostly bought noodles and vegetables in bags or cans. My second thought was whether I'd actually be able to pull this off...and if I'd ruin dinner if I couldn't.

"Are you okay?" His eyebrows furrowed, crouching down some to get my attention.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. What next?" I tried to keep the process going to avoid a heavy conversation.

"Add the rest of the eggs," He did. "and repeat."

The flour was now forming into dense crumbs, which then formed into dough.

"Just a little salt, some oregano and olive oil." He finished his off before adding the rest to mine. "Alright, yours looks good." He smiled.

I tried to copy his hand movements, but it was hard to focus on mine and watch his at the same time.

"Now we just knead it." He formed his into a neat ball before using the palm of his hand and squishing one half of the dough and folding it over to repeat.

"A-am I doing this right? It looks kind of lumpy..." I picked mine up.

"You're doing great." He assured me, giving me a sterling nod. "If it seems lumpy, then just keep kneading."

"Okay." I said quietly, losing confidence in my dough.

I could feel his eyes on me the whole time as pressure was mounting on me. My face felt heated and my heart beat was gradually inclining. I wasn't sure why I felt so insecure in this moment, which was even more ironic since I was so confident in chopping vegetables, but there was a lot of unsureness festering inside of me. I hope this comes out alright.

I kept kneading, forcing my palm firmly on top of the dough and folding it over to repeat but it didn't seem to look as compacted as his.

Hearing him sigh, I was afraid to look up and see a disappointed face but instead I immediately realized the feeling of several tiny knobs of coolness on my face and in my hair.

I gasped immediately, already being able to detect the flour on the top of my nose. Looking to him in shock, he gave me a playful but smug look.

"Mr. Davis, you are so dead!" I yelled.

I grabbed a handful of flour without thinking and chucked it at the top of his head, aiming mostly for his curly hair. He patted it out, then stared at me. The hesitation making me worried that I took this too far.

"You've done it now, you never mess with my hair." He laughed, pointing at me as if he were about to bury me inside the flour.

Suddenly, he grabbed a cup of flour and poured it on the top of my head. Causing yet another wave of shock crawl through my body, I scooped another cup in my hand and chucked it at him. He returned the favor soon after.

"Look at me; I'm swimming in flour." I laughed, wiping the excess from my forehead.

"You deserved it for ruining my hair." He ran his fingers through it, trying to shake out the flour.

"Oh no," I looked down. "the floor is a mess."

"Don't worry," He waved it away. "it can be cleaned." Putting his hand on my shoulder, there was a shine in his eyes that made me smile.

"I'm sorry I ruined the dough." I looked back at it.

"You didn't ruin it, it looks just fine. All we have to do now is wrap it in Saran Wrap and wait at least thirty minutes."

He rather happily combined his dough ball with mine and motioned for me to hold it while he wrapped it. Watching him respond to my distress in the way he did left a sparking feeling inside my chest, one that I thought was long extinguished.

Aside from the punishments, which were mostly self-inflicted, there was something about Mr. Davis...something unlike the Administrator side to him; he wasn't completely stoic and strict, he was engaging and fun. He had a likeness about him that made me feel at home, made me feel supported. I could honestly look at him and somehow know he'll be there for me whenever I need him. I hope that feeling never goes away.

I should do something nice for him, but what? What can I do?