Love Burns

by Adrian J. Smith

  The door snicked open, and surprisingly, there was a light on in the living area. Smiling at the thought that Becca must have left it on for her, she dropped her purse on the counter of the kitchen and toed off her tennis shoes. She was covered in food that had been tossed around, her chef’s coat and pants a disaster, but she didn’t care.

  She grabbed an ice-cold bottle of water from the fridge, twisted the cap off and chugged nearly half of it before she realized she wasn’t alone. Becca stared at her cautiously from the couch, her laptop and school book propped on the coffee table. Nearly choking, Kimberly sputtered and set the water down as she took a deep breath.

  “Sorry! I didn’t realize you were still up.”

  “Studying.”

  Kimberly raised her eyebrows, not sure Becca could even see her do it in the dim of the light. “Do you have a test coming up or something?”

  “I always have a test, it seems. That or a paper.”

  “That last year of school is rough.”

  Becca didn’t turn back to her schoolwork. Curious, Kimberly followed her instincts and moved toward Becca’s perch, her water bottle in hand. She stood over her then bent down to read something highlighted.

  “The multiple intelligences of learning… That sounds drab.”

  Becca snorted. “It’s not all bad. Makes sense in a logical kind of way.”

  “Better you than me. College, while it was not so much my friend, also did not do me well in the long run.”

  “Oh?”

  Kimberly rolled her eyes and sat next to Becca so she wasn’t leaning awkwardly. Their knees touched, and Becca jerked away tensely. Ignoring the moment, she went on. “I told you that I majored in anthropology. A whole lot of good that degree is doing me.”

  Becca nodded. “Then why cooking? Why not use your degree?”

  “Honestly?” Kimberly took another sip of her drink before setting it on the table. “It’s the one thing I’m actually good at, because I’m not good at just about anything else, and in a weird way, I do use my degree on occasion. History of food, the culture of food, the evolution of food? It’s all anthropology.”

  Becca bit her lip. Kimberly felt an urge to run her thumb over it but resisted by gripping her hands together tightly in her lap.

  “How late are you planning to be up? I don’t want to disturb your studying.”

  Becca closed over her book with a loud thump. “It’s about time I stopped anyway. My mind is mush. Between being three hours ahead of where I normally am and after a long day of traipsing around the city, I’m pretty beat.”

  Kimberly moved her gaze down to her hands, trying to find something to say. As much as she wanted to stay up and talk to someone, she didn’t want to intrude into Becca’s personal time that she had very little of. Thankfully, Becca kept her talking.

  “How did today go?”

  Kimberly gave her a sly grin, her chin still pointed down toward the ground, but her eyes lighting with joy. “Wonderfully. Though this was quite a hindrance.” She pointed to her still-broken wrist in its cast.

  Becca stared at her with wide eyes, gave her an imploring look, then glanced side to side. “You can’t tell me more, can you?”

  “Tell you what?” Kimberly had no idea why she was dragging this out. They both knew what Becca was asking, and yes, they both knew that technically Kimberly wasn’t allowed to say anything about the results of the competition. Normally, she would have called Bradley and shared the news with him, threatening to sue the socks off him if he told anyone—all in good jest, of course—but this time, she hadn’t even thought of picking up her phone.

  “Come on. Did you win?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.” Kimberly bit her lip and gave Becca another sly look. “It’s in the contract they make me sign in a million and one spots.”

  “All right…” Becca licked her plump lower lip that Kimberly wanted to nibble. “So what can you tell me? Did you make it past the first round?”

  Kimberly drew in a deep breath. She enjoyed teasing Becca and the banter they had. “I can tell you that I cooked some really damn good food.”

  Becca laughed. “Your food, I’m sure, is always pretty damn good.”

  Shaking her head, Kimberly laughed. “It’s not, but thank you. I’ve burned chicken with the best of them—during a competition once, too. That was fun. I’m sure you can find the video if you try hard enough.”

  Becca leaned into the couch, still half-turned toward Kimberly. “I might take you up on that. What else can you tell me?”

  “Twelve hours is a long time to be filming for only about two hours of actual cooking and judging time.”

  Becca shrugged.

  Kimberly resisted the urge to reach out and play with Becca’s fingers. “I can tell you that I made it into the final round. I mean—I think technically I’m not supposed to tell you that, so mum’s the word.”

  “The final round? Wow! That’s amazing.” Becca tilted forward, captivated by every word Kimberly had to say.

  Kimberly continued. “I can perhaps maybe not tell you that in the final round the other contestant had a complete breakdown.”

  “What?” Becca’s eyes widened.

  Grinning, Kimberly focused on the woman sitting next to her, leaning in closely to whisper. “She didn’t, but it was fun to say. I’ve seen it happen, though. No, she was really good competition. Her style was a mix of French and Spanish with a Moroccan flair—go figure. I was pretty sure there was no way I could beat her.”

  “That sounds— Wait. What?”

  Kimberly grinned broadly.

  “Are you serious?” Becca jerked her head to the side as she tried to read between the lines.

  “I never joke.”

  “You’re serious. You won?”

  “I didn’t tell you that.” Kimberly’s eyes crinkled at the corners as the adrenaline pushed its way through and into her chest. “But I didn’t tell you otherwise, either.”

  “Oh my God! That’s fantastic! Congratulations!” Becca reached forward, reaching her arms around Kimberly.

  Kimberly melted into the embrace. She clutched Becca’s back and pressed her nose into her shoulder, breathing in the left-over chlorine from another trip to the pool, mixed in with some other fruity scent. Her stomach tightened and twisted. Something about this felt completely right and totally wrong in the same instant. But she didn’t want to let go.

  She didn’t know how long they hugged, but it was over far more quickly than Kimberly had wanted. When Becca pulled away, Kimberly stopped her with warm fingers to her cheek. Becca closed her eyes, her long lashes covering the bright blue color. Kimberly licked her lips. Her heartbeat ratcheted up and fluttering started in her belly.

  She wanted to kiss Becca.

  Swallowing, Kimberly parted her lips, but she wasn’t sure what she was planning on doing. Before she could make a decision, Becca’s eyes popped open. Becca turned out of Kimberly’s touch, slammed down the top to her computer and grabbed it and her book, pressing them against her chest.

  “I should get to bed,” Becca whispered.

  Clearing her throat, Kimberly nodded. “Of course.”

  Becca was gone before she could say or think anything else. Cursing under her breath, Kimberly grabbed her half-empty water bottle harder than she intended and chugged the rest of it. She collapsed into the couch and cursed again. Now she’d be up all night, but instead of thinking about her win, she’d be thinking about the line she’d almost crossed.

  Chapter Eight

  The trip back had been tension-riddled, but Becca made the best of what she could. Kimberly had given her the opportunity to go to New York when she likely would never have had one. The night Kimberly had won her competition wouldn’t leave Becca’s mind. Becca’d almost crossed the line, the firm, thick line she had put out to the universe that she did not want to cross.

  She couldn’t jeopardize this job. She needed it in order to finish school, to not drag it out an
y longer—not to mention it was also a matter of pride. She’d never lost a job. Sighing, Becca flipped closed the book she was most definitely not reading or retaining and dropped it noisily on the coffee table in the living area. Michael was having his quiet time, and without him as an easy distraction, she was left with her own thoughts.

  The flight home would have been glorious had it not been for the tension. It was the first time she and Kimberly had been able to sit in the same vicinity and not snap at each other since that night. Granted, Michael had been pressed between them in the middle seat, talking animatedly about the entire trip in New York and how he couldn’t wait to share with Bradley all he’d done and seen.

  Groaning, Becca rubbed the bridge of her nose. She had an idea of how to distract herself even more and how to work with Michael on some of his fine motor skills and counting skills when he woke up, but until then, she was still left on her own. Her own thoughts. Her own dreams.

  She bit her lip. She had almost kissed her boss. And for a brief second, when she’d opened her eyes, she’d thought her boss had almost kissed her. Whatever that was, it had to stop immediately. They both needed each other too much in their current capacities to even tangle with the possible what-ifs.

  But Kimberly—sighing again, Becca relaxed—Kimberly was an enigma. Soft and gentle with Michael but hardened against anyone else in just about any other capacity. If Becca didn’t know better, she’d say Kimberly was lonely, to the point where she almost didn’t remember how to have a friendship.

  Glancing down the hall toward Michael’s room, Becca willed his quiet time to be up sooner rather than later. It was nearing late afternoon, and she had plans she wanted to complete—plans that would perhaps teach Kimberly that friendship was well worth the effort. Friends they could be, or at least friendly with each other. Anything else was off-limits.

  Having given up on studying, Becca brought her books and computer to her room and tidied up there for a few minutes before she went to the kitchen. She pulled out the recipes she intended to try for dinner and took stock of what they would need to buy for the meal and what they already had. A chef’s kitchen was like nothing she had ever seen.

  Kimberly had jars upon jars upon jars in her refrigerator, mostly different kinds of mustards and various kinds of pickled vegetables. But the spice cabinet—yes, the whole cabinet was dedicated to spices—was beyond her wildest imagination. Kimberly had everything she could ever possibly need in there. Some of it was expired, but most of it was exotic.

  For the distinct lack of cooking Kimberly did in her own home, Becca was surprised to find as many small jars of spices as she did. Locating everything she could on her list, Becca went down the rest of it double-checking. Just as she finished reading the last few items, she heard the click of Michael’s door opening, indicating that he was finally awake.

  She smiled and leaned against the counter as she waited for him to join her. He rubbed his eyes with a sleepy pout on his lips as he came around the corner and went face-first into her belly, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  “Still tired, kiddo?”

  Michael nodded.

  “What do you say we cook your mom a feast tonight? Do you think she’d like that?”

  Michael pulled back, his eyes alight with excitement. “I’m not allowed to cook.”

  “I think we can make an exception to that rule if you let me help you.”

  Thinking it over, Michael came around to the idea. “What are we gonna cook?”

  Becca paused, making a big show of deciding, even though she already had an answer. She tapped a finger against her lip as she bent down to him. “Honey-glazed chicken, roasted veggies and maybe some jasmine rice.”

  Michael nodded his head enthusiastically. “I like honey.”

  “I thought you might. First though, you’re going to have to help me at the store.”

  His eyes widened. “Okay, I think.”

  “You’ll be good help, I promise. Want to grab a snack for the car ride?”

  Michael headed for the pantry where he knew his snack basket was. He grabbed a small package of animal crackers then ran to the door to get his shoes on. Becca followed, tucking the list into her back pocket. She slipped on her sandals as he finished folding over the Velcro on his tennis shoes. He was ready to go just as she was and together they went out of the side door toward the driveway.

  Becca waited to make sure he had his buckles done up right before she shut the door and slipped into the driver’s seat. She had plans for him. The store would involve pushing the cart, but also be them talking about how to pick out good produce as well as how to read a price tag. She was excited to teach him, just as she knew he’d be excited to learn.

  Turning the radio volume down, Becca pulled into the street and headed for the organic food store, the one she’d noted a lot of the items in Kimberly’s pantry had come from. It took them about fifteen minutes to get there, and Michael had remained pleasantly quiet in the back, snacking on his animal crackers and occasionally asking questions about what they were cooking.

  As soon as they arrived, Michael was ready to go. He held on to Becca’s hand as he half-skipped half-walked toward the large automatic sliding doors. He continued to hold her hand as she grabbed a cart and turned down the first aisle.

  “Okay, kiddo. We’ve got to find some vegetables.”

  “This way!” he practically shouted.

  Becca didn’t bother to correct him. She could tell he was excited to go somewhere new and do something nice for his mom. She steered the cart down to the side of the store toward the heavenly produce. It was her favorite part of any grocery store. The colors, the freshness of it all made her feel alive and healthy—which she knew was stupid, but it did.

  Stopping by the front of the large produce area, she grabbed the list out of her pocket and bent down toward Michael. “All right. We need some bell peppers.”

  “What’s that?”

  She grinned. “Let’s see if we can find some.”

  Walking a few more steps, she came to a stop. Michael diligently followed, his eyes lighting up. “These are bell peppers?”

  Laughing, Becca nodded. “They come in different colors. My favorite is the red one. Could you grab two for me?”

  Michael stepped forward and grabbed a big red bell pepper and brought it to her. She took it then waited to see if he would go back for another one. He hesitated, but Becca waited patiently.

  “Can we try a yellow one?”

  “Sure.”

  Michael bounced as he came over. “That’s two!”

  “Awesome job. We also need some shallots.”

  “What are those?”

  “They’re kind of like little onions.”

  Michael wrinkled his nose in a look of disgust. “Onions are gross.”

  “These ones are good. They’re actually pretty sweet-tasting. Will you try one? After we cook it, of course.”

  Shrugging, Michael followed Becca as she headed to where she thought shallots might be. She grabbed a few of them, asked Michael to count them out then put them in the cart next to the peppers.

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  “Chicken. Kind of need chicken for honey-glazed chicken, don’t we?”

  “Yeah. Where’s the chicken?”

  “I think it’s this way.”

  They wandered through the rest of the store, Michael finding items and Becca asking him to count various things. When they got to the check-out line, Michael helped put everything on the belt and clapped his hands together excitedly as the cashier rang it up. He stood silently by Becca as she pulled out cash and paid the bill. As they left, Michael grabbed one handle of the reusable tote with all their goods in it and walked alongside her.

  Upon arriving at the house, Michael was ready to cook. Becca barely had time to take her shoes off as she entered before he was already over at the kitchen sink, washing his hands. She laid everything out and pulled up the recipes on her phone. The
y started with the chicken, as that was going to take the longest. Michael measured and poured out all the ingredients for the glaze into the pot then backed away while Becca turned on the gas burner.

  It took her longer than she expected to coax him into stirring the pot, and she had to convince him he wouldn’t burn himself in any fashion so long as he was careful. Whipping out her phone, she pressed the camera button to record a video. She turned it to face Michael and herself.

  “Michael, tell your mom what we’re doing,” she said into the camera with a smile on her face.

  “Mom! We’re cooking chicken! With honey. It’s for you for dinner.”

  Becca expected him to stop there, but in typical Michael fashion, he went on.

  “I put in the—the—”

  “The lemon juice,” Becca supplied.

  “Yeah, the lemon juice and honey into the pot, and now I stir it.” He made a big motion of stirring. “But I not get too close. It’s hot.” He wrinkled his nose slightly. “Becca turned the stove on, Mom. I didn’t. Becca did it.”

  Chuckling, Becca popped into the camera frame. “He can’t wait for you to eat his creation.”

  She ended the recording and sent the video. Without waiting for a response, because she knew this was prep time at the restaurant and Kimberly would be busy, she pulled up the recipe again and they continued to cook.

  It wasn’t until they were sitting down at the table that her phone rang. Rather than a normal call, it was a video call. Becca called Michael over and answered, handing it to him so he could talk with his mom.

  “Mom! You almost home?”

  “No, I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

  Becca heard the disappointment in Kimberly’s tone as well as the stress and exasperation. It leaked through each word.

  “I can’t come home right now like I thought. Something happened at work, and I have to stay here. But I’m really looking forward to the dinner you made me. That was so thoughtful of you.”

  Michael frowned, and his eyes watered with tears. Becca debated whether to comfort him or wait to see whether they were real tears or the fake ones he was prone to have as of late. As soon the first turtle-drop of salt water slipped down his cheek, she moved over to him and wrapped him in her arms.