Illogicalness of Hot Chocolate and Life
By Simply Shelby

He had brought hot chocolate.

Juliet O'Hara stared at the man standing outside her door--a ridiculous smile on his face that she could see even with the popsicle in his mouth and the blindingly green shirt buttoned crookedly, shopping in both of his hands--and blinked. "Shawn, what are you doing here?"

He brought a hand up, the grocery bags sliding down his arm, and pulled the bright yellow ice lolly out of his mouth. "C'mon, Jules." He licked the drops of his treat off his mouth and greeted her with a quick peck on the cheek. She smacked him in the arm for it, but he just leaned in brushed the tip of her nose with his lips. "Don't be like that." He held up both hands to her in a sort of presentation. "I brought hot chocolate," he announced with a dramatic flair.

"It's eighty degrees outside." It was the first thought that popped into her mind. Though it was mid-October, Santa Barbara had been in the midst of random heat waves that Juliet didn't understand. She'd heard murmurs of "Indian Summers, O'Hara" but she had no idea what that was supposed to mean, either.

"Actually, it's almost ninety, you look absolutely gorgeous today. I'm really liking those... shorts," he ended lamely, but quickly picked the speed back up, "and you're watching... Sabrina. Dude! Harrison Ford!" Shawn said smoothly, sneaking between her and the doorjamb and into her flat.

Sighing in surrender, Juliet shut her door. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy Shawn's company; she just wasn't in the mood for his boisterous attitude at the moment.

He was unloading the bags onto the counter and she took in all the supplies. Milk, cream, baking chocolate, cocoa powder, sugar, brandy, tarragon, and-

"Pineapples, yeah. Of course." he informed her around the popsicle. At least, she thought that was what he said and she was about to ask when he gave her a look that clearly said, "Don't ask."

"I don't think I want to know." Briefly, she wondered if all his recipes secretly contained pineapple. She certainly wouldn't doubt it. "Where's the whipped cream?" she asked, realising it was missing. Everyone always had whipped cream with hot chocolate. It was like some society rule or something.

Her... she couldn't call him her boyfriend. They weren't dating. At least, not yet. She didn't think, anyways. They hadn't even been on their second date yet. Did seven first dates mean you were automatically dating? Not in her experience it didn't. So her... soon-to-be boyfriend shot her a weird look from where he was currently clanging through her pots and pans. "You don't like whipped cream, Jules. Why on earth would I--" then his voice was muffled because he was on his knees, his head shoved deep into her bottom cupboards.

She didn't repress the urge to giggle at the sight.

He re-appeared a few moments later, looking positively puzzled. "I know you have a saucepan because we had shrimp alfredo two weeks ago." Thus began a soft humming rendition of the silly saucepan song he'd taught her the last time they'd used the saucepan. Accompanied by the slurping of his popsicle.

"I loaned it to a neighbor," she explained, "and it hasn't been returned."

"Oh." Dejectedly. Then his features lit up. "And now for Plan B!" He pulled out her deepest pot, which happened to be a truly horrid hot pink colour, and set it on the stove. "We'll just make twice as much!"

She opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of the idea when--Oh Lordy. "Shawn..." Watching as Shawn licked the juice from his wooden sticks, Juliet felt her blood temperature spike disastrously and she snatched a case file up off the counter to fan herself. It was just the heat. Really.

Shawn caught her gaping and tossed the sticks into the rubbish bin. "I know I'm pretty and all, Jules, but staring isn't nice." He ushered her to the couch with her pile of tissues and her paused chick flick. "Now, watch Linus the Grinch get a heart and if you tell anyone I've actually watched that movie, I sense serious misfortune will fall upon you."

She didn't have the heart to tell him it already had.

Of course, he already knew. "That was a miss. Sorry, Jules." He apologised with a wince.

She glowered at him. "How do you-"

He just smiled, softly, sadly at her. "Psychic, Jules, remember?"

Both of them knew it wasn't true. And she doesn't usually believe in those sorts of things, but there is something about Shawn that makes her want to believe it's true. And when could she ever deny him anything?

"I'll go make the chocolate and it won't take but a minute." He paused, re-thinking his statement. "Actually, I've never done it in less than a day, but I'll try. Just for you." He gave her that sweet, quirky, half smile that made her melt--not like she wasn't melting in this heat even with the AC on--and turned back to the kitchen.

She un-paused her movie, but didn't pay any attention to it. Besides, she preferred the '54 version. Her attention was almost blatantly focused on the adorable man in her kitchen. He was still humming that tune, chopping up the pineapple and baking chocolate at the same time, and occasionally asking the milk in the ridiculously large pot if it wouldn't mind heating up a bit faster.

He jumped back with a yelp of surprise when the warm milk splashed out of the pot when he dumped the ingredients in. This time she suppressed her laughter, but Shawn shot her a warning look and asked, "Apron?"

"In the--"

"Laundry room?"

"Hanging up."

"Thanks."

Appearing a few seconds later in a soft pink apron with ruffled edges, Shawn grinned widely. "A regular Martha Stewart, huh?"

"You watch that, too?" She couldn't help but tease.

He nodded seriously, "Every night at four o'clock. I even buy the magazines sometimes."

Hopping up off the couch, she pulled a whisk out of the utensil drawer and held it out to him. Half-heartedly hoping to help.

"Er..." He stared at the offending object as though it was a snake about to bite him. "I don't really do whisks, Jules. How 'bout you stir?" and pushed her toward the stove.

It had been barely a shove, but it was enough to knock her off balance. She reached a hand out and her palm pressed against the stove. "Ow!" she yelped and promptly lost her balance once again, hitting the tiled floor hard on her bum.

Shawn was at her side in an instant, taking her hand in his and guiding it under a stream of cool water with a, "Oh, God, Jules! Are you okay? I'm so sorry. I swear, I didn't mean to." A kiss against the base of her neck.

She felt tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Not just because of the burn. "I know, Shawn. I'm fine."

Neither of them believed it.

He guided her back to the couch and sat down beside her bandaging her hand with a roll of loose gauze that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. He was so gentle, so sweet, so focused, so serious. It made her want to cry.

Instead, she wearily repeated the questions she'd asked at the door, "What are you doing here?" Even though she already knew the answer.

"The Chief told me what happened," Shawn began softly, "You shouldn't have to be alone after something like that."

Taking a deep breath, she burrowed her head the crook of Shawn's neck. "It was awful." A shaky, terrified whisper. Shawn's shirt was quickly acquiring a wet spot on the shoulder. 

A triple homicide. Bullets littered on the quaint living room floor. Blood tainting the scattered collection of Beatrix Potter stuffed animals. A mother, a father, and a little girl. Dead. However, the little girl had been alive when she and Lassiter had arrived and she had insisted riding in the ambulance. She would never forget that carrot hair or those glassy green eyes. The girl had been DOA.

In the end, it had been a simple burglary gone bad. 

Chief Vick had ordered her home and she hadn't protested.

Suddenly, she felt cold and she realised that her warmth had disappeared to the kitchen. He reappeared with two mugs in his hands, handing one to her before resuming his place beside her. Her back pressed against his chest.

"One summer," Shawn began cautiously, "I was six. A friend of mine had passed out from heat stress while we were playing. She was taken to the hospital and treated for heat sickness. But, she didn't make it." He took a sip of the chocolate and his eyes told her to do the same. She was surprised. It was actually quite tasty and that slight hint of pineapple was... comforting. "My mom and I got back from the hospital and she took me straight to the kitchen and began taking stuff out of the cupboards. We made this recipe." He gestured to the mugs. And Juliet was entranced because it wasn't often that Shawn talked about his mother. "My dad came home to a mess in the kitchen and us drinking hot chocolate on one of the hottest days of the year. He told Mom it was illogical to make hot cocoa in the middle of summer and told me that a lemonade stand would be more profitable."

Juliet snorted quietly at this because she didn't have a hard time believing those were the man's exact words.

"My mom taught me," Shawn continued, "that life isn't always logical and things will happen and sometimes we won't understand why. She said that sometimes you just have to drink the hot chocolate in the middle of summer and not think about the causes or the repercussions." Blindsided, Juliet wondered how he knew exactly what she needed at exactly the right moment. "She said that sometimes you just had to live through it and forget about rationalising it because it would never make sense."

The blonde woman pulled back a bit and frowned, "She really said that?"

Shawn shrugged. "She makes that stuff up for a living. Do you honestly think I came up with 'repercussions' all by myself?"

She had enough self-preservation left not to answer.

"We made it every summer until I was fifteen." And here his breath hitched just a bit. "And every time I was having a bad day, she'd whip out the recipe and ask if I was okay." His words were nervous. Unsure. "And I loved that she noticed and she wouldn't let me do it alone..." He was more hesitant than she had ever seen him, his half-smile sliding off and on his face like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be feeling. "And I just thought that maybe you wanted someone to notice and to be there and--" He shook his head in disgust. He was terrible at this. "I don't know."

But, she did, and that made everything okay. She burrowed closer to him. "Thank you, Shawn. I love you, too."

And she did. Even if their relationship made absolutely no sense to her and she didn't stand a chance of rationalising it because they were illogical. 

Almost ninety degrees outside, a cuppa steaming hot chocolate cupped in her hand, and Shawn tucked around her, she was sweaty, uncomfortable and hot.

And she didn't want to move.