Hi! , A random prompt idea, a Brio scene inspired by one of your favorite Jess x Rory scenes ( or any of your other fav otp scenes) please . 🥰 ✨
After she uses her elbow to make some room on the counter completely obscured by an array of dirty mixing bowls, open spice jars, and soiled paper towels, Beth sets down the dish. Then she tosses the sweet potatoes with a dressing of oil, balsamic, lime juice, and cilantro she’d whisked together earlier, and grabs her phone to flip back from her text thread with Dean to Instagram.
rio_dedinero: you going for first place?
making.marks: It’s not really a competition
rio_dedinero: isnt it tho
making.marks: No! It’s a fundraiser. The money goes to all of us.
rio_dedinero: but whoever has the best basket gets the highest bidder… that’s the winner yeah?
making.marks: Technically. I guess.
She says it as if it hadn’t already crossed her mind, as if it didn’t inform her choice to make such an elaborate spread for her own basket. She didn’t know if Dean would bring enough money for her to get the highest bid (or if he was coming at all now), but she did know that no basket would be worth more than hers. (And she knew Mrs. Yoder, the Culinary Club advisor, would be impressed, too.)
rio_dedinero: so are you gonna win or not marks?
Nibbling on her thumbnail, she glances around the room. Then, impulsively, she stacks every dirty dish she can by the sink, takes a soapy sponge to the kitchen island, and pulls every single one of her Tupperware out of the fridge. With a hop, she perches on her step stool and then snaps and sends him an aerial photo of her spread, making sure to choose a filter that makes the colors pop—the reds of the watermelon and tomatoes, the greens of the jalapeños and cilantro, the oranges of the hummus and potatoes.
Slipping her phone into her apron pocket, Beth dumps the dry ingredients into the other bowl and stirs. She swipes her finger through the concoction and tastes the perfect hint of chili powder. Licking her lips, she pours the finished brownie mix into the baking pan. Then, while carrying it over to the oven, she sneaks a peek at her phone again.
rio_dedinero: goddamn
rio_dedinero: nobody else stands a fucking chance
making.marks: ☺️
rio_dedinero: maybe ill have to come bid
Beth stares at the words on the screen, and suddenly she feels warm all over, scorching, even—like the entire kitchen is sweltering in the heat of the oven. Her tongue feels thick and heavy in her mouth, and when she tries to think of something to respond, she finds her head is as empty as the batter bowl she’d just scraped clean.
A text pops up at the top of the screen.
Dean again.
What was taking him so long between texts, anyway?
its a friends birthday today
Instinctively, she knows it’s Amber’s. She doesn’t need to check—doesn’t need to see the post that she knows will be there of her wearing a tiara or a sash or something else stupid, like a birthday girl crop top—but she does anyway.
Or she does after she impulsively double taps Rio’s last message and the little red heart appears, at least.
She types one final message to Dean.
It’s as important as you want it to be.
Then she turns off her phone.
