All Fired Up

by Kristen Painter

  “Hi, Badu. Thanks. Nice to meet you, too,” Calleigh said.

  “Your boots are very beautiful. They are Dior, no?” Badu pointed to Calleigh’s feet.

  “Thank you. Yes, they are Dior. My uncle gave them to me for Christmas. Hey—” She grabbed the edge of the counter.

  Seamus lifted Calleigh’s foot, twisting it so he could see the sole of the boot. “Just as I suspected, this is the first time you’ve worn ‘em, too.”

  Calleigh stomped her foot down and out of her uncle’s grasp. “Uncle Seamus, please! Where am I supposed to wear $1200 boots?”

  “How do you know what they cost? An’ that’s retail by the way, which I never pay.” He frowned and crossed his arms.

  “I looked them up on eBay.”

  Seamus shook his head. “I should have known. You’re addicted to that bloody site.” He nodded toward Alrik. “So, what happened to Brad? You get wise to him, did you?”

  “I don’t want to discuss that right now.” Calleigh thrust the wrapped package into her uncle’s hands. “Happy Birthday.”

  Alrik leaned over. “What is E-Bay?”

  “Where’ve you been, lad, living in a cave?” Seamus chuckled and Corrigan joined in.

  “Nay…” Alrik glanced at Calleigh.

  “He’s from Norway. He’s here studying Germanic history with the International Visitors program at NYU. You know those academics, lots of book knowledge but when it comes to modern life…” She hoped the snippet of info would satisfy her uncles.

  Moreen lifted the lid off the pot bubbling on the stove, intensifying the aroma of lamb stew wafting through the kitchen.

  “I have not smelled anything so wonderful since the Cinnabons at the mall,” Alrik said, moving closer to look into the pot.

  “Wait ‘til you taste it, lad. This dish was one of the main reasons I landed Calleigh’s uncle.” Moreen grinned at her husband.

  “Woman, you know that isn’t true.” Corrigan slipped his arms around her waist. “I married you for yer childbearing hips and fiery disposition. Yer cookin’ was just a fringe benefit.”

  As her aunt cuffed her uncle’s shoulder for the third time, Calleigh changed the subject. “I guess the twins couldn’t make it home for the weekend but I expected to see Bridget.”

  “She’s at dance, but she should be home any minute. You know she’s got a feis coming up at the end of the month.” Done stirring, Moreen put the lid back on the pot and wiped her hands on a towel.

  Calleigh nodded. She knew about the feis and had already agreed to attend Bridget’s next dance competition, even though it wouldn’t be easy. Before her mother died, she’d looked forward to each feis. Of course, she’d had her own students entered in them back then, too. “Bridget’s getting pretty good now, isn’t she?”

  “This is her first feis at the Open level,” Moreen said.

  Not a minute later, they heard the muffled slam of a car door, followed shortly by a red-cheeked girl in ringlets bursting through the kitchen door.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Malaley,” she called out before closing the door. “Happy Birthday, Uncle Seamus. Cousin Calleigh!”

  “Hi, Bridget,” Calleigh answered with a smile. Had she looked that way at thirteen?

  The young girl embraced Calleigh before launching into a stream of chatter. “I’m so nervous about the feis. But excited, too! For my Set dance, I’m doing “The King of the Fairies”. You are coming, aren’t you? You promised you know.” Bridget bobbed up and down on her toes.

  Calleigh laughed. “I promised I’d be there and I will.”

  “Here now, show us a bit, Bridget. I don’t think my lovely friend Badu has ever seen real dancing.” Seamus grinned at his youngest niece.

  Bridget looked at her parents. “I’m not supposed to dance on the wood floors in my hard shoes.”

  Corrigan crossed his arms.

  “As a wee present to me, on me birthday, forget about yer blasted floors.” Seamus deliberately heightened his Irish accent, causing Bridget to giggle.

  Moreen grinned and jabbed her husband in the ribs. He winced. “This once and only this once.” He pointed at Seamus. “And I’m sending you the refinishing bill.”

  “Grab an end, lad.” With a victorious smile, Seamus directed Alrik to help him move the kitchen table.

  Bridget handed her mother a music CD as she came back in from fetching a portable stereo from another room.

  With a glance at Alrik, Bridget kicked off her sneakers before slipping one foot into her hard dancing shoe and lacing it over her poodle sock. “Where’s Brad?”

  Calleigh didn’t want to lie to her cousin, but she didn’t want to share the gory details, either. She knelt at Bridget’s feet and started lacing her other shoe. Quietly, in a voice she hoped only Bridget could hear, she explained. “Brad broke a promise to me. After that, I knew he wasn’t the right man. Better to know the kind of man he is now, than after we were married. Understand?”

  “So is that guy your new boyfriend?” Bridget’s whisper was full of curiosity.

  Calleigh smiled. “No, he’s just a friend.”

  “Too bad, ‘cause he’s way cuter than Brad.” She snuck another admiring glance at Alrik.

  “Don’t you have a jig to do?”

  “I guess so.” Bridget stood up, smoothing the legs of her practice shorts.

  Calleigh glanced at the small group who, except for her aunt and uncle’s twin sons away at college, represented the remainder of her family. Had any of them liked Brad?

  With the kitchen table back against the wall and chairs pushed out of the way, Seamus stood waiting, Badu at his side. Moreen waited to push play on the boom box until her daughter finished adjusting her socks.

  “Okay, I’m ready.” Bridget moved to the middle of the kitchen, arms stiffly at her sides, chin up, feet crossed in front of each other.

  Her mother pushed play and the plaintive sounds of Irish fiddles filled the room.

  Bridget’s feet began to move, stepping and twisting to the infectious music. Her curls bobbed in time to the lively beat, her face lit with a brilliant smile. “Dance with me, Calleigh.”

  “Oh no, I can’t—”

  “Go on, lass. Those boots deserve to have some fun,” Seamus said.

  “You can do this dance?” Alrik skeptical smirk seemed to say he thought otherwise.

  “I used to—“

  Moreen interrupted. “She taught in her mother’s studio for years. Not only can she do it, but she’s got the medals and trophies to prove how well she can do it. She even had the chance to dance principal for Irish Fire.”

  At the name of the touring dance show, Calleigh’s head snapped around. “Aunt Moreen. Please.”

  “C’mon lovey, make your dear departed mother proud.” A sweet smile punctuated Moreen’s words.

  “No.” Calleigh shook her head.

  “If she cannot do it, she cannot do it,” Alrik said, shrugging.

  “I can so do it. But I’m only dancing a few steps.” Calleigh complied, secretly pleased her past achievements had not been forgotten. She moved into place beside her cousin.

  Picking up the steps as though she’d danced the jig yesterday, she matched the younger girl’s moves with perfect timing.

  Calleigh lost herself in the dance, the music transporting her to a place where all that mattered was the pure joy of movement. Her mother’s mantra filled her head. Ice in the body, fire in the feet.

  Laughing, she danced faster and faster, keeping time with Bridget’s flying footsteps. The music came to a sweeping conclusion and the two cousins finished their steps with heads held high. Their small audience erupted in applause.

  “Well done, lasses! Now that’s a birthday dance for sure.” Seamus grinned, thoroughly pleased.

  Breathing harder than she cared to show, Calleigh just nodded. A pearl of sweat trickled down between her breasts. The jig winded her, but that was no surprise. She hadn’t had a reason to dance in many months.

  Alr
ik watched Calleigh with interest. The flush of her cheeks and the exaggerated rise of her chest brought to mind a completely different dance. One that began with another kiss like they had shared outside.

  The passion of her kiss had surprised him. He had not expected such a kiss from a woman whose eyes held such pain. But she was happy now, here with her family. Even if she was worried that he would do something to shame her.

  He applauded along with her family, grinning at her pleasure while he wondered if the heat of the kiss had lingered on her lips as it had his. Catching his gaze, she quickly looked away, the flush on her cheeks deepening. His belly tightened. The kiss had indeed stayed with her.

  Corrigan clapped Alrik on the back. “Would you care for a draught, lad?”

  “Aye, that I would.” A draught of the fair-eyed lass in front of me.

  “Guinness to your liking? Or will you be wanting something weaker?” Corrigan drank deeply from a tall glass of dark liquid.

  Alrik smiled. They had so little idea who they were dealing with. As chieftain of his clan, he had held his own at feast times. “I will have the same as you.”

  “The lad wants a Guinness, Seamus.” Corri chuckled as if he shared a private jest with his brother.

  “So pour him one, Corri. It’s my birthday. You’re supposed to be waiting on me.”

  “You fixed a drink for Badu.”

  “And for good reason.” Seamus turned to where his date stood with the other women by the stove and let his gaze wander over her figure. “She’s a mite lovelier than this lad.”

  Alrik glanced at the dark-skinned woman. She was beautiful but too thin. Calleigh’s curves were made for a man’s pleasure. Corrigan opened a can of Guinness, the popping sound muted by the women’s laughter.

  The dark ale sluiced down the side of the glass Corrigan tilted. When he finished pouring, he set the glass in front of Alrik. “There ye are.”

  He reached for it, ready to show Calleigh’s uncles what he was made of.

  “Not so fast.” Corrigan blocked his hand. Alrik bristled. What game was this?

  “Guinness needs to set for a bit. But like a fine woman, it’s worth waiting for.” Seamus laughed at his own words.

  So Alrik waited, watching as the mud colored brew cleared, separating into a creamy head and a sparkling brown body. The color of the ale matched the deepest part of Calleigh’s eyes. Would it be as intoxicating?

  “Well, go on then. Are you going to drink it or stare it to death?” Corrigan asked.

  Seamus lifted his own glass and smirked. “Skal!”

  Corrigan grinned and raised his mug. “Skal, indeed.”

  Knowing full well they were playing with him, Alrik responded in kind. “Go raibh tú leathuair ar Neamh sula mbíonn a fhios ag an diabhal go bhfuil tú marbh.”

  Calleigh’s head swiveled toward him. “What did you just say?”

  “He said, ‘May you be a half hour in heaven before the devil knows you're dead’. In perfect Irish Gaelic.” The smirk on Seamus’s face vanished. Corrigan’s jaw hung open.

  “You speak Gaelic?” Calleigh’s eyes were round with surprise.

  Nodding in answer to her question, Alrik gave her a wink, picked up the glass and downed half the bitter brew.

  “Hold on, lad. You’ll be polluted in no time drinking like that.” Seamus reached for Alrik’s arm, but pulled back at the last, perhaps thinking better of it.

  Calleigh stepped between Alrik and her uncles as Corri refilled Alrik’s glass. “What are you two doing?”

  “Just keeping the lad in Guinness, love,” Corri said.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I realize you two think it’s your personal duty to torment every man who comes within a two mile radius of me but getting him drunk is inexcusable.”

  “I can handle my drink, Calleigh.” Alrik’s voice held a note of overconfidence.

  Whirling around, she intended to warn him about her uncles once again. A line of tan foam coated his upper lip. The urge to lick the frosting of Guinness off his mouth veered her thoughts in a different direction. “Um…yeah, I’m sure you can.”

  “You boys put that table back then find your seats in the dining room.” Moreen handed out orders all around. “Seamus, you’re at the head since it’s your birthday. Bridget, light the candles, please. Calleigh, help me with this food, will you?”

  “Sure.” Her gaze stayed locked with Alrik’s for a split second more. She’d tasted that hot mouth not an hour ago.

  Matches in hand, Bridget came up beside him. “You have foam on your face.”

  He looked down at her, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. “Is that better?”

  She laughed. “Boys are so messy. Want to help me light the candles?”

  “I would be honored to assist such a surefooted lass.”

  Giggling some more, Bridget led him into the dining room.

  Admiring the view of the Viking’s backside, Calleigh missed her aunt’s instructions.

  “Calleigh Siobhan! Quit your mooning and get the crumble out of the oven before it burns.”

  “I wasn’t mooning.” She slipped her hands into oven mitts before opening the oven door and lifting the bubbling pan onto a hotplate.

  “Sure ye weren’t.” Moreen gave her a knowing smile.

  “He’s just a friend, really.” Calleigh sighed. Why did her family make such an issue over every man in her life?

  “So we’re kissin’ friends now, are we?” Moreen asked.

  Calleigh’s heart thudded in her chest. “What are you talking about?” Heat wafted up from the oven, floating the curls around Calleigh’s face and tickling her cheeks.

  Moreen stopped ladling the stew into a tureen and parted the kitchen window curtains. She tipped her head toward the glass. An outside light illuminated Calleigh’s Volvo in the driveway right outside.

  “So?” Nothing escaped this woman.

  “So yer cheeks have gone scarlet as that rhubarb.”

  “It’s just the heat from the stove.” Closing the oven door, she hid her face from further inspection.

  “Don’t look so stung, lass.” Moreen went back to ladling. “You deserve a good man in your life, and none of us thought Brad was the one for you anyway. I know Jeana introduced you two, but that girl’s not the best judge of character herself. Seamus only invited her because you two seem to pal around. Not that she could be bothered to show up this.” Moreen sniffed. “At least she’s only related on your mother’s side.”

  The truth in her aunt’s words made Calleigh want to lash out. “What makes you so sure Brad wasn’t the right one? And what makes you think Alrik is? You don’t even know him.” I don’t even know him.

  Moreen cupped her niece’s cheek with a warm, well-lined palm. “I know this much. Brad didn’t deserve you. You’re too good a woman for the likes of that eejit. Besides, he always seemed shady to me. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but if you’re broken up, I’m glad for it.”

  “I never said we were broken up. And you can’t judge Alrik on the short time he’s been here.”

  “He’s polite, sweet to Bridget, doesn’t seem the least bit shaken by your uncles…doesn’t hurt that he speaks the mother tongue, either.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing. He could be an ax murderer.”

  Moreen handed her the soup tureen to carry to the table. “Merciful Joseph, an ax murderer? I doubt that. I will say this, you never looked at Brad the way you look at this one.”

  The conversation wore her down. “Shouldn’t we serve this before it gets cold?”

  With an understanding smile, her aunt nodded. “Lead the way, love.”

  The glow from the candles sparkled off the Galway crystal holders. Muted prisms danced over the Limrick lace tablecloth, caressing the lines of the antique bone china. Calleigh set the tureen of stew in front of Seamus, as befitted the guest of honor.

  He was at one end of the table, seated at the head as Moreen had instructed. To
his right sat Badu, then an empty seat for Moreen, then Corrigan at the other end. To Seamus’s left sat Alrik, then Bridget, then another empty chair.

  Calleigh pursed her lips in mild irritation. She wanted to sit beside Alrik. Bridget’s sudden infatuation with the Viking had been cute for the first five minutes.

  “Bridget, mind your manners. Let your cousin sit beside her guest,” Moreen chided her daughter.

  “But, Ma, he’s telling us a story about the Viking goddess, Freya.”

  Calleigh flashed Alrik a look she hoped he would understand as cease and desist. He ignored it.

  “Bridget Clare, do as your mother tells you.” The warning in Corrigan’s voice was plain.

  “I will change seats with Bridget.” Alrik stood and pulled out Calleigh’s chair before helping Bridget switch places with him. Moreen smiled like she’d just won something. Calleigh sat, stifling the urge to kick her aunt under the table.

  “So, what’s this story you’re telling?” Calleigh asked.

  “It’s about Freya’s feather coat and how she used it to transform herself into a bird and fly across the sky,” Bridget chimed in before Alrik could answer.

  “She did that in order to find her beloved husband, Odin, who had disappeared.” Alrik mimicked the others and placed his napkin on his lap.

  “I promise to tell you the rest of the tale later, Bridget,” he said.

  Bridget huffed and Moreen shot her a look. “That’s enough, Bridget. Mind your manners in front of company. Corri, bless the food before it gets cold, will you?”

  Corrigan offered a blessing in Gaelic then Seamus started filling plates.

  Calleigh was passing bread to Corrigan when Alrik’s hand brushed her thigh as he pulled his chair in, leaving a trail of heat on her skin. She nearly choked on her wine.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Moreen looked concerned.

  “Fine,” Calleigh sputtered. If you consider being all warm and tingly fine. Which it is. Just not here.

  Alrik leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I did not mean to touch you unbidden.”

  “Are you sure, love?” her aunt asked.

  “Positive.” Calleigh nodded, slightly disappointed by Alrik’s confession. “Wine just went down the wrong way. Your lamb stew is wonderful, as always.”