The pencil for the pad had rolled away a bit, hiding behind the toaster. She rubbed the apple against her face, enjoying the coolness, the way it smelled, before taking a little bite. She thought she might cry when the juice hit her tongue. She forced herself to only take two bites before she put it down and printed, ‘my name is Summer.’ In between every sentence, she took another bite.
‘was it wrong to pick the apple? I don’t have any way to repay you.’ She stared at the paper for a long time, fingers clenched around the fruit, before she wrote the next line. ‘I should not have asked you. I’m sorry.’
Derek was a little weirded out by her rubbing the apple on her face. He was almost afraid that she didn’t know how to eat it. His fear vanished when she finally bit into it. He watched her write on the paper and waited until she was done before he read it. “I think the apple is a good choice,” he nodded, “but it won’t fill you up. You need to pick something a little heavier if you’re hungry.” He ignored the rest of the note, not accepting the apology or anything in return for something he chose to do.
She looked down at the apple, before taking another bite. ‘why are you doing this?’ Another bite. ‘you bring me to your home offer me your food and your coat’ Another bite, and another. She had asked for help; had ask for help from many people. It was why she wasn’t dead of starvation yet. But nobody had ever done more than buy her fast food or give her a little money. This man, Derek, this wolf, took her to his own home, practically burned with concern for her.