Hold on to this lullaby; even when the music's gone

She was book smart; her knowledge coming from the carefully cultivated library her parents had gifted her with. It was full of history texts; Shakespeare and romance and period pieces; she loved poetry and the American classics too. But her experiences are limited to what's in the books, to swords and knights and Princes. She isn't so clueless to think that all of life is like that, but in some aspects she wishes it did. She is naïve to the workings of the human brain, not even speculating that someone could be evil enough to take advantage, after all everyone was good until proven differently.

She is a curious one by nature; her pursuit of knowledge is something that she enjoyed indulging in. It is this very nature that causes her to follow him towards the counter and the saleswoman who seems to visibly deflate right down to the way in which he pulled his wallet out and she watches this with a keen eye. She watches the way the card is swiped, expecting maybe some lights or something fun but when all it does is print out a piece of paper, she is frowning and even tapping on the counter as if it would make it do something. It could be broken, maybe the lights didn't work and someone just never fixed it. Still frowning she retrieves the bags and follows him out through the glass doors, andâ€"with his heads upâ€"on the direction he was going to take she sidles close to his side.

She is tempted to weave her fingers into the fabric of his shirt again but she refrains, her body placed between his and the crowd of people. This only seems to make her anxious, her shoulders tense until she cuts behind him and pops up on the other side. There is a visible lowering of her shoulders at this, as if she had started to relax even a little bit with just that change in position. She is more attuned to the way his body is going to shift when the people pass them by so she is moving just as he moves matching her body to his, just a half step behind.

She follows him again inside a store with no warning as to where they are going, following as she is good at, but when her gaze rests upon the welcome sign and people bustling about with metal carts and baskets she is momentarily distracted from him. She was sure her eyes had to be the size of saucers, this distraction is enough to have her tilting her face up a bit to scent the air as if she were outside. Too many smells assaulted her before she's ducking her head and rubbing at her nose in reaction. His words, still so calm compared to her overreactions is enough to pull her gaze back to him, a curious look in her eyes.

She wants to ask him what it means, these words in which he has called her by but she refrains herself until he is done talking. The fact that he had even thought to acknowledge her interest in cooking and as an extension, baking, is enough to endear him to her even further. "I would like that," She says in response to making dinner that evening, she'd never just cooked for two before and was actually looking forward to the challenge of it. When he brushes his hair from his face she is speechless, her ocean-colored eyes raising to meet his uniquely colored ones, forgetting her uneasiness with even meeting them. She steps closer, "oh!" She murmurs, the fingers on her free hand rising to touch his cheek.

The moment lingers, as if they were in their own small bubble before his words are urging her forward and she drops her gaze from his again and commandeers the nearest cart to place the bags in before starting down a random aisle. The fact that her family grew their own food and hunted their own meat was not lost on Claire; it had never occurred to her that not everyone did what they did. She rolled up to the first aisle displaying signs with different meats and curiously she peeked onto the shelf, confused she looked at that lady next to her who seemed quick satisfied with her "chicken" that Claire is picking up a packet of it and turning it over and tapping the front of it as if maybeâ€"miraculouslyâ€"it would start moving. "Whyâ€"" she frowns again, "Why is it dead already?" The woman next to her only looks at her oddly and hurries away with her selection. Dropping the packet of chicken back with the rest of its kind she moves towards the beef, maybe there would be more luck with this, but when she finds the same thing she just shrugs and starts putting packet upon packet into the cart as if it were no big deal.

She has no relegated herself to tugging the cart behind her as she enters the vegetables and it is here that she is more comfortable, tugging out the different kinds and testing them with her fingers before being satisfied, she does the same thing with the fruit, almost seeming at ease before a sign catches her eye. Abandoning the rest of the fruits she is hurrying towards the new aisle, looking over her shoulder to make sure he was still within sight before disappearing down it. It is here that she stops to stare, a section labeled as "baking goods" and she is picking up a box of cupcake mix and shaking it, didn't people know how to make their own?

She discards this back to the shelf before hurrying down to start shoving flour and sugar and vanilla into the cart. She is moving on down the aisle when an interesting contraption catches her eye. The label said, 'Coffee beans' and Claire could only stare at it before pushing on the metal piece at the bottom. A bean came out and dropped onto the floor, it pinged against the ground and rolled away as she stared at it. Still curious because it said 'bean' she does this again, catching it in her hand andâ€"after looking aroundâ€"pops it into her mouth. It crunches beneath her teeth and she stops almost instantly as a weird taste hits her tongue. She makes a face, her brows furrowing but she won't spit it out for lack of a place to do so. Instead, she tries to pretend nothing is wrong, her mouth clicking shut as she goes back to staring at the baking goods.