A single word echoed faint, but clear in the back of Claire's mind when she saw the confusion wash across Dean's face, replacing the concern.
Crap.
"I thought- it was Fruit Loops- can't stand the marshmallow shit," she tried to play it off. Usually her improv skills were on par, but hormones did funky things to her thought-processes, including reaction time and imagination. On top of everything else, he would not believe the dreams she'd been having. Didn't matter if they were full of kittens or sexy firemen or winged windegos, they were disturbingly vivid, and unrelenting.
But for now, this was reality, and Claire moved away from the offending box, trying her best not to corner herself in the kitchen and his dubious curiosity. In the path was the fridge, which she opened and looked inside. Nothing but BBQ sauce and a box of baking soda. And a beer. God, she missed beer.