Love Burns

by Adrian J. Smith

  Michael pouted his lip out and put his head down. “She says I get in the way.”

  “Oh, honey, she’s just not used to having a kid in the kitchen. Tell you what… We will make lasagna, and you get tell her all about how you helped make it. Sound good?”

  “I guess.” He shuffled his foot against the ground.

  “Good. Now, Chef Michael, can you get me the oil? We’re going to cook up this sausage and some ground beef.”

  Michael perked up immediately. They spent the next hour or so in the kitchen, Becca teaching him as much as she knew and asking him for help pouring, mixing and layering the lasagna. It was her grandmother’s recipe she had stolen when she’d left the house.

  Once they’d put it in the oven, Becca got down on Michael’s level. She smiled. “Now, Chef Michael, you know this recipe is a family secret.” She put her finger over her mouth. “So, no matter how much your mom begs for it—because she’s going to love it because you made it—you cannot share with her. Okay?”

  He nodded. “Got it. I promise.”

  “Good. What do you want to do while it cooks?”

  “Read!”

  “Kid after my own heart.” Becca pressed her fingers to her chest and smiled. “I love that you love to read.”

  Michael bounded off to his room to get a book, and Becca settled in. If she were willing to admit it, she was already falling in love with Michael. He was brilliant, funny, energetic and had a bright personality. She had connected with him right away, and luckily, she was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

  * * * *

  Kimberly sat in her chair in her office, finally having a minute to relax. The dinner rush was about to gear up, and luckily, she had been able to avoid most of the kitchen that day and let her body rest. Bradley had sent her a couple of texts throughout the day to check in on her, and she’d sent curt messages back but largely ignored him. His outburst the previous day had been uncalled for, and she was still sour over it.

  The message from Becca made her heart skip. She opened it, not knowing what to expect, but when she saw the video, she smiled. The message was simple—Michael wanted me to take this video and send it. He misses you every day you’re gone.

  Hitting play, Kimberly watched and laughed as the two of them danced to a song playing loudly from the television. She wished daily that she could be with him all day every day, just as much as she wished she could grow her career. She wanted her cake, and she wanted to eat it too—and sometimes that wasn’t possible. Her heart hurt at how much she wished she could be there, dancing with them.

  The knock on the door stirred her out of her reverie. “Chef, there’s a problem.”

  “Yeah.” Kimberly’s voice broke. She cleared her throat and repeated herself. “Yeah. What’s going on?”

  Her dishwasher summoned her with a finger and a head nod. Kimberly reluctantly got up out of her chair and headed toward the kitchen. The tension there was thick, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to walk into whatever hellfire was happening. On the stainless-steel counter sat an appetizer plate with hardly anything eaten off it.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, authority lacing her tone.

  “This was sent back,” Maury, one of her head chefs, answered. “Apparently it’s too salty.”

  “What?” She grimaced and poked at the plate with a fork she grabbed. She stabbed a piece of potato and popped it in her mouth, thinking through the flavors as they hit her tongue. Rosemary. Salt. Pepper. Sweet. Vinegar. Nodding, she took one more bite then invited Maury to take his own taste.

  “I don’t taste salt,” he said.

  Kimberly tilted her head to the side and nodded. “Correct. There’s salt, but it’s not overwhelming. There’s too much vinegar. Make sure they’re just putting a splash in before cooking the rest of it.”

  “Yes, Chef,” Maury answered.

  Kimberly went to her office and pressed on through her paperwork. It was her least favorite part of the job, which was why it had backed up so much, and since she couldn’t cook, it was the only reason she was dedicating so much time to it. Pursing her lips, she stared at her computer screen again, a headache brewing in the front of her skull. At first it was a dull throb, then it became a sharp stab.

  Downing caffeine and a couple of migraine pills, Kimberly set back to work. The ruckus from the kitchen called out to her, but she ignored the tugging sensation and focused on her work. If she were lucky, she’d get ahead for the first time ever and get to spend more time cooking once her wrist was well on its way to healing.

  She had a second cup of coffee to try to dull the migraine even more, but once it started pounding, she gave up. Kimberly left her office and went out to the kitchen. She checked on all her chefs, making sure they were keeping pace with the orders and maintaining the quality of the dishes. She tested a couple, added salt to some and butter to others. Making her rounds, Kimberly relaxed as her headache eased.

  Not one to miss out, she did jump on the line and chop up a few onions and bell peppers. Her cuts were precise, and the rhythmic repetition set her even more at ease. This was going to be a long couple of months while she waited for her wrist to heal, and thank goodness it was her non-dominant wrist, otherwise she’d be in even more of a tizzy.

  Eventually, Maury chased her off the line, and Kimberly retreated to her office. She watched the video Becca had sent one more time before she dove into her work. It was going to be a long night.

  * * * *

  It was past midnight when she stumbled into the house. All the lights were off, save the one over the stove. Kimberly reached bleary-eyed for the kitchen switch so she could see. The house was clean, and it felt good to hear nothing but the sweet lullaby of Michael’s sound machine echoing down the hall.

  Any other night and it wouldn’t have been so exhausting, but with everything else that had happened, she’d been siphoned of all her energy. It was as if the last two weeks had been never-ending, and she knew the next two were going to be just as bad. Her follow-up appointment with the ortho was in the morning, and she no doubt would have one more before she’d get a real cast—thanks to the doctor ex-husband for warning her of that in one of his many random texts throughout the last few days.

  Kimberly grabbed the handle to the fridge and sighed as her stomach rumbled. She pulled the door, fully expecting nothing to be made, but was pleasantly surprised when she saw the nearly full casserole dish of lasagna sitting on the second shelf.

  “Score!”

  She grabbed the glass dish and set it on the counter. Not hesitating, Kimberly grabbed a fork, pulled at the foil and went to town on the cold lasagna. She was at least halfway through what might be considered a third piece when the light to the living room flashed on, nearly blinding her. She froze, fork mostly to her lips and mouth wide open. Becca stared at her with a look of amusement on her face.

  “What?” Kimberly asked.

  “Didn’t even want to heat it up?”

  “It’s too good.”

  “Aww, well thank you. I take that as a compliment, coming from you.”

  Kimberly wrinkled her nose and straightened her back, the last bite of lasagna still hanging precariously on to her fork. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re this popular, huge, well-known chef. You like my food.”

  “I like a lot of food, especially food I don’t cook. Especially cake. I like cake a lot.”

  Becca snorted and walked over to the kitchen island. She took the lasagna and cut off two heaping hunks. She grabbed a couple of plates and warmed them in the microwave. Kimberly poured two glasses of white wine then sat on the stool. It didn’t take long for the beep of the microwave to sound. Becca put the plates down, grabbed herself a fork and swung around to sit opposite Kimberly.

  “Oh, was that second plate for you?” Kimberly teased as she slid the plate closer to herself. “I thought you were just reading my mind and being generous.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Becca c
huckled. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “Italian?”

  “Surprisingly, no. Polish. But she grew up living next to Italians, her best friend was Italian and she stole as many recipes as she could.”

  “Best idea ever,” Kimberly said around another mouthful of lasagna. “Does this have sausage in it?”

  “Sweet sausage and beef.”

  Kimberly moaned around the next bite she took. It seriously was a heavenly meal, and she had plans to eat the rest of the lasagna before she left for work the next day. “God, this is good. I may need to steal your recipe.”

  “Chef’s secret. I’ll never share.”

  Grinning, Kimberly leaned back slightly, fairly certain that Becca was flirting with her. It had been a long time since anyone had. The wall she kept up at all times made sure of that, but if she didn’t know better, she would think Becca was—and she liked it.

  “I’m sure I’ll get it out of you some day,” Kimberly teased. “Maybe I can figure out all the ingredients if I sit here and eat everything.”

  Laughing, Becca took a bite for herself. “Maybe you can, but I’ll never tell you if you’re right or wrong.”

  “Touché.” Kimberly was halfway done with her newest piece of lasagna and was unabashedly planning on getting herself another.

  Becca took a long sip of wine before saying, “Michael might share it with you before I do.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. He helped me cook it today. He was fully entranced by making the sauce.”

  “You made the sauce from scratch?” Kimberly was impressed.

  Becca shrugged. “You didn’t have any, but you had all the ingredients for it.”

  “I’ll give you that one.”

  They ate in silence for a few more minutes. Kimberly pushed her plate to the side after finishing it. “Why are you up so late?”

  “Studying.”

  “Ah, yes, for your test.”

  Becca nodded. “Educational Psychology.”

  Kimberly’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s a heavy class.”

  “Yeah, not my strong suit. I much prefer the method and curriculum classes. This one… This one is a doozy. I’m worried I’ll fail it.”

  “You won’t. Make sure you don’t. I know I couldn’t pass it, but you seem much smarter than me.”

  Becca smiled softly. “Did you go to college or just culinary school?”

  “Both.”

  “What’d you major in?”

  “Nothing useful.” Kimberly drank the last of her wine and got up for a refill of both her drink and her plate. While the microwave buzzed to life, she turned to Becca. “Anthropology. Very interesting to learn, nothing to do with that degree without getting another degree, and let’s face it, school is not my thing. I struggled just to graduate.”

  “So why cooking?”

  Kimberly shrugged and grabbed her hot plate. “Got my first job at the school cafeteria, loved it and realized I liked working there way more than I liked school. I was decently good at it. Thought I’d keep it going.”

  Becca nodded. “Sounds like you found your passion.”

  “Why teaching?”

  Shrugging, Becca smiled. “I love kids. I love watching them learn and when they have that moment when something clicks and they get it. They’re so smart and don’t know it. It’s really quite a contrast I love living into.”

  “Then it sounds like you found the right major for you.”

  “I think I have. I’ve been putting off my degree because of student teaching and not being able to find the time for it and work, but I’m almost to the point that I have no other choice. I have to do it sooner rather than later if I ever want to actually be a teacher. I don’t want to end up being a perpetual student.”

  “I hear you there.” Kimberly finished her last piece of lasagna and knew she couldn’t manage to shove another one down her throat, as much as she wanted to. “Was he good today?”

  “He was excellent. He’s so creative. I love it.”

  “Yes, I think he takes after me in that area, but he’s definitely got his dad’s brain.”

  Becca didn’t respond. Instead, she cleaned up. Kimberly sensed their camaraderie was over and cleaned up her own mess. Becca put the rest of the lasagna in the fridge while Kimberly slid the plates and glasses into the empty dishwasher.

  Kimberly made sure to catch Becca before she headed to her room. She pressed her fingers into Becca’s arm to get her attention then leaned against the counter. “I have to shoot an interview early next week. I’d love it if you could bring Michael. I haven’t really had anyone to bring him before, anyone he actually connected with, and it’s clear to me he likes you. I know he would love to be there in person rather than just watching Mommy on the TV.”

  “I think he would love that.”

  “Good.” Kimberly let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “In the morning, then.” Becca left, and Kimberly soon followed her cue and headed off to her own room.

  It was easily two in the morning before she fell asleep comfortably after having to adjust herself and the pillows a hundred dozen times. The swelling and her wrap itched like mad, and she had to mentally talk herself down from going back to the kitchen to grab a fork and scrape it under the temporary cast. After finally clearing her mind and begging the caffeine she’d drunk earlier to stop keeping her awake, Kimberly fell into a light slumber.

  Chapter Five

  The car service was a nice perk, and as soon as Michael stepped out of the front door, his jaw dropped. Becca laughed and grabbed his hand to lead him toward it. Kimberly had finished installing his car seat, so when Becca and Michael got there, he was near bouncing out of his shoes. He climbed into the SUV, full of energy and talk. Kimberly followed behind him, buckling him in while Becca walked around and got in on the other side.

  As soon as she shut the door, Michael’s constant chatter was her friend. As they pulled out of the drive, she zoned out slightly as she listened to him continue on and on about the weather, the cars they passed, the set they were going to, his best friend Kamryn, who he missed, the episode of his favorite show he had watched three weeks ago and more. Small things made Becca smile, but she let Kimberly take the lead on entertaining him for the drive. It was her job to do it once they arrived.

  They were actually going to two places that day. The first was a late morning talk show, where Kimberly was expected to cook a quick summer specialty in something like three minutes or less. Becca had shaken her head at the thought. She had no idea what to expect from a television set. The second was an actual cooking demo, where Kimberly would be spending about an hour with an audience, teaching and answering questions. That one sounded far more interesting.

  “Becca.” Kimberly leaned forward so she could see Becca across the car seat. Michael stopped talking and just observed. “I think they said you could watch the cooking demo from the back if you and Michael would like to. You might not want to stay the whole time—it’ll be long—but if that would interest you…”

  “It would, for sure.” Becca gave Kimberly a small smile and settled back as Michael voiced his agreement.

  “Yes! I want to watch Mama cook.”

  “He loves cooking,” Becca commented, more to herself than to anyone.

  Kimberly leaned over again, a puzzled expression crossing her features. She looked to the floor. Becca caught the glance and shifted so she could see Kimberly completely. Michael looked curiously between the two of them. After a few more seconds of silence, Becca pushed herself to ask the question on her mind.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Yeah, I suppose it does.”

  “I love cooking, Mom,” Michael chimed in.

  Tears threatened Kimberly’s honeyed eyes. “I didn’t know that, kiddo. We should cook dinner together tonight.”

  “For Becca? Can we cook for Becca?”

  Kimb
erly’s mouth opened and closed. Becca’s nerves bubbled up, and she searched for an excuse. Clearly, Kimberly was not comfortable with that. Becca put a hand on Michael’s leg. “Kiddo, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that tonight. Maybe some other night.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  Becca chuckled and shook her head. “You and I can cook dinner tomorrow night, because your mama has to work tomorrow.”

  “Breakfast. I love pancakes. Mama, can we make pancakes for Becca tomorrow?”

  Once again, Becca was met with a lost look on Kimberly’s face. Before she could give another rebuttal, Kimberly slowly nodded. “Yes, we can make pancakes for Becca tomorrow morning.”

  “Yay!” Michael clapped his hands together and kicked his legs out in excitement. Then he turned on Becca. “My mom makes the bestest pancakes in the whole widest world.”

  “I bet she does.” Becca reclined in the seat, determined not to intrude on any more family time if she could help it. While she loved spending time with Michael, she recognized the need for space. Glancing out of the window, she watched as cars, highways and buildings passed by.

  It wasn’t much longer before they arrived at the studio. Kimberly had filmed the late-morning talk show twice before, and apparently the fans had particularly liked her. As soon as she arrived, it was as though she owned the building. She walked in with confidence—a complete change from what Becca had seen of her before leaving the house, which had been close to utter chaos.

  Becca held Michael’s hand as they followed. They were shown to a room where they would spend most of their time while Kimberly was out on the stage. Becca pulled out some small toys and books for Michael while Kimberly ran through her to-do list. The two of them played on the couch as Kimberly left for makeup and came back shortly after.

  Michael nearly jumped out of his shoes when his mom came back into the room. Becca’s heart flew into her throat, and she had to tamp it down. Kimberly looked so different. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, but all the loose strands that tended to float around her face were smoothed away and not to be found. Her eyelashes were long and sultry, her honey-colored eyes left to stand on their own against the rest of her darker complexion.