Love Burns

by Adrian J. Smith

  Kimberly continued, “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I really wanted to be home. I can smell it from here, and it smells amazing.”

  Michael sniffed. “It’ll be cold when you eat it.”

  “That’s okay. It’ll taste just as good. I promise. I loved watching the video of you cooking. I showed Uncle Maury and Uncle Zechariah, and they said you looked like a chef already.”

  Michael perked up at that.

  “Kiddo, I’ve got to get going. It’s a little crazy here. Can you give the phone to Becca so I can talk to her for a minute?”

  Nodding, Michael handed the device over. Becca, sensing Kimberly didn’t want Michael to necessarily hear what she had to say, started toward her room. As soon as she sat down on her bed, Kimberly closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was odd to see her when normally this type of conversation would be done over a phone call or text message.

  “The boiler is shot. I don’t know what happened, but I’ve got a repair crew here. They’re working as fast as they can to get it running. Meanwhile, dinner rush.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Becca said, not sure why she was getting the explanation. “That must be rough.”

  “Of course it always happens on the nights I plan on being home early.” Kimberly rolled her eyes. She looked stressed. Her hair was unkempt, sticking out from the pony she had shoved it into, and her cheeks were red with tension. “I don’t know when I’ll be home, honestly. I know tonight was supposed to be early for you. You didn’t have any plans, did you?”

  Becca shook her head.

  “Would you be able to watch Michael then? I really don’t want to call Bradley.”

  “It’s no problem.” Becca clenched her jaw as she worked through what to do next.

  “Thanks.” Kimberly took a deep breath and looked at something away from the camera. “Back into the fray, I guess.”

  “See you.”

  * * * *

  Kimberly stopped short when she saw Becca bent over the laptop at the kitchen table, typing. It didn’t take Becca much more than a few seconds to look up, and their gazes locked. She hadn’t expected Becca to be up this late. It was well after midnight. Putting her purse and keys on the edge of the kitchen counter, she headed to Becca to once again thank her for saving her ass that night.

  She plopped onto the chair and untied her tennis shoes that were covered in a fine layer of grease. “Thank you so much for watching him tonight. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Becca raised a single eyebrow curiously. “I think that might be the first compliment you have given me.”

  Kimberly was taken aback by the seemingly odd attack. Exhaustion had already taken over her and she didn’t want to fight—and she certainly didn’t want Becca to quit. Bolstering herself, she popped her second shoe off and rubbed the arch of her foot.

  “I know I can be a bitch sometimes.” Rolling her eyes, she amended, “Most of the time. I’m sorry that I haven’t been a good boss to you.”

  Something shifted in Becca’s gaze. Kimberly wasn’t quite sure what it was or where the hostility had come from, but she was glad to see it seemed to be gone.

  “Thank you, I think.” Becca bit her lip.

  Kimberly switched feet. It had been a hellaciously long day, and her muscles ached from the exertion. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since prep. Becca must have heard it too, because the look she was now giving her was one of pity.

  “Michael insisted on making you a plate. It’s in the fridge. He tried to stay awake for you to come home but crashed at about nine. He really missed you today.”

  Kimberly’s chest tightened and tears stung the backs of her eyes. She had missed him, too. Before she could even think about getting up, Becca was already on her feet and in the fridge. She pulled the plastic wrap from the plate and shoved it into the microwave. Cocking her head to the side, Kimberly became aware of her stomach twisting. Something about Becca doing this one thing that was so domestic and considerate had her stomach in knots.

  When Becca set the plate in front of her, Kimberly risked a chance and pressed her fingers to Becca’s wrist to get her attention. Smiling up at Becca towering over her, she flushed. “Thank you.”

  Becca shrugged and went to her seat, going nose-deep into her books again. Kimberly didn’t wait a beat as she cut into the chicken, reveling at the steam that plumed up. Her stomach gave another growl, letting her know she shouldn’t wait any longer. Shoving a forkful between her lips, she immediately regretted the decision not to wait. Her tongue burned like she’d just tasted fire.

  Determined not to make an embarrassment of herself, she chewed through the pain until she thought the piece of chicken might be cool enough to swallow. Without attempting again, she got herself a bottle of cold water and sat down.

  When she took her second bite, she got the flavors—the note of smokiness, the sweet glaze but with a hint of spice on the back of her tongue. Kimberly couldn’t help herself. She moaned. Her eyes drifted shut as she savored every flavor exploding in her mouth. After the heat burned off, she was left with a sweet note lingering offset with a touch of sour.

  “This is amazing,” she said around a third bite. “Please tell me there’s more than just this left.”

  Becca glanced up at her then down at her computer, unfazed. “There’s more.”

  Kimberly practically bounced in her seat as she continued. Each bite brought her a new layer of flavor. When she finally tried the sautéed vegetables, she was blown away again. This time, she made sure to get Becca’s full attention by grabbing her hand until their eyes were locked.

  “Seriously, this is hands-down amazing. If I were judging this on a show, you’d win. No competition. I’d just hand you the prize.”

  A blush crept up Becca’s cheeks.

  “I’m not kidding. I eat a lot of really good food and a lot of bad food. This is beyond good. It’s phenomenal.”

  Becca shook her head in rejection, but Kimberly stopped her.

  “I’ll stop. I promise. But really, this is go-od.” Kimberly emphasized ‘good’ by dragging out the word before she popped another bite into her mouth.

  “Thank you.” Becca blushed fully now. “Maybe I should become a chef instead of a teacher.”

  Kimberly chuckled. “So you can deal with broken boilers, drunken dishwashers and twelve-to-fourteen-hour days?”

  “You’re right. Teaching is a better option.”

  Kimberly laughed again, her eyes scrunching in the corners. “You said you only have a few semesters left, right?”

  Becca let out a heavy sigh and shut the laptop. Kimberly almost regretted asking the question, sure she was disrupting some deep study that she’d already forced Becca to push back because of the stupid boiler.

  “I have been technically close to graduating for two years now. I’ve had to slow down taking classes so I could pay for them. But after this summer semester, I should be ready for student teaching. Then I’m done. That’s all I have left.”

  “Wow. So close.”

  Becca hummed an affirmative. “Michael and I worked on counting today while we cooked, as well as fine motor skills with stirring and pouring. We also worked on learning different vegetables and colors, all while we were at the store.”

  “I never would have thought about that.”

  “The grocery store is an excellent place to learn, as is the kitchen.”

  Kimberly didn’t miss the tone in Becca’s voice, the slight of condescension and disapproval. It needled at Kimberly. She set her fork down and leaned back in her chair. She’d meant to discuss it right after they got home from New York but had avoided the confrontation.

  “I meant to talk about some things in New York before today, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.” As soon as she’d finished speaking, the tension visibly tightened in Becca’s shoulders. Instantly, she regretted the necessity of the conversation. “While I appreciate you and all you do for me, especially
on nights like tonight, Michael is my son and I need to parent him, not you. I make the rules and you have to follow and enforce those rules, and I’d appreciate it if you would defer to me when I’m around in terms of discipline.”

  “I understand.” Becca’s jaw was clenched tight, the words barely audible.

  Kimberly continued. “That said, what bothers me more is the judgment you seem to have about how I spend time—or don’t spend time—with Michael.”

  “I know.” Becca winced. “I’ve regretted it every time I’ve said it because I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Truly I am.”

  Kimberly cocked her head to the side and gazed up and down Becca’s form. She could see the remorse setting in her shoulders, the pain it took her to apologize. “I accept your apology, but that doesn’t solve the issue that you’re still thinking it.”

  “I know,” Becca murmured. “I’m…I’m trying to work on that.”

  “I suppose that’s something you’d have to deal with a lot of when teaching.”

  Becca nodded her agreement.

  “But for now, for us, it needs to stop.”

  “I understand.”

  When Kimberly glanced over at Becca, she was digging her thumbnail into each of her cuticles, pushing them back. Pressing her warm fingers over Becca’s to still the nervous gesture, Kimberly caught her attention again. “I’m not mad. I think you may perhaps be right, and I don’t want to admit that, but I’m not mad.”

  Becca shifted her hand so she could entwine their fingers, giving a squeeze. “I need to learn to hold my tongue.”

  Kimberly chuckled. “Don’t we both.”

  Her self-deprecating comment earned her a grin from Becca, and she squeezed her fingers again, enjoying the contact. It had been a long time since she’d spent time in relative peace doing normal domestic things with someone other than Michael, and it felt good. Smirking, Kimberly kept their fingers together, even though it would be far more appropriate if she broke the touch.

  Becca smiled. “There’s dessert, you know.”

  “There’s…there’s dessert?” Kimberly squealed. “Do tell!”

  Grinning, Becca got up and headed for the kitchen. She came back with two bowls of sorbet, with a small mint-leaf garnish included.

  “The recipe is a secret,” Becca whispered.

  Kimberly took a spoonful and burst out laughing as soon as it hit her tongue. “It’s my recipe!”

  “It’s one of my favorites. I couldn’t resist when I saw the raspberries in the fridge.”

  “This is perfect.” Kimberly grabbed for Becca’s hand again, but Becca pulled away. Put off, Kimberly focused on her dessert. “I think I forgot to tell you that Bradley needed to switch weekends, so Michael will be headed over there tomorrow. You’ll have the weekend to yourself. I have to film a competition tomorrow all day, so the house will be yours as soon as Bradley picks up Michael.”

  “Really?”

  “Whatever shall you do with all that time?” Kimberly flirted.

  “I’ll probably be nose-deep in books. I have a paper due that I need to finish. Gotta ace this class.”

  “I have faith you can do it.”

  Becca snorted. “You might be the only one.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re brilliant. You taught my kid more today than I would have ever thought he needed to know.”

  Becca blushed again. “That was easy. This? This is hard.”

  “I think you can handle it.”

  They finished their sorbet, and Kimberly ordered Becca to bed while she cleaned the plates and tidied up. She would make sure to be up early to spend time with Michael before she had to go to work, no matter how exhausted she might be. Becca may have overstepped in her suggestions, but she had been far from wrong. Turning the lights off and making sure the doors were locked, Kimberly headed to her bedroom and blissful sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  She’d lost. She couldn’t believe she’d lost. Well, she could, but still…it stung. Pulling into her driveway, Kimberly put her car in park and looked at her lonely house. She hated coming home when Michael wasn’t there. It was cold and empty and way too quiet—even if he was asleep when she got home.

  Sighing, she picked up her purse and made for the garage door. She was still in her chef’s coat, still with gobs of makeup on that she normally wouldn’t wear, including some odd magnetic eye lashes they had convinced her to try. It was close to midnight. She’d gone back to Gamma’s to check in on everything before forcing herself to head home.

  She’d wanted to wallow in despair, to beat herself up mentally, to go through the recipe over and over in her head in an attempt to perfect it, but nothing was working. Growling, she headed straight for the cabinet she kept her liquor in. One good stiff drink would help. After being heavy-handed with the vodka, she mixed it with some orange juice for a classic screwdriver and made her way to the couch.

  Plopping down, Kimberly flipped on the television and sank into the cushions, rubbing her still-broken wrist. She couldn’t wait to get the cast off, but at least she was now able to take it off for an hour here or there. Cooking with it was a chore in and of itself. Once she found her favorite station, she took a large gulp of her mixed drink, wincing as the alcohol hit the back of her throat and made her nose tingle. She took two more sips before she dared to wonder what Becca might be up to.

  “Becca…” she said out loud, humming after the name left her lips. She seriously had to put up more walls around her. Every time they were together, Kimberly felt hers slipping away, the moat she had purposely built between her and pretty much every other adult in the world getting smaller—and it scared her.

  She was just finishing her drink when the door clicked open. Kimberly stood, not swaying at all, and went to pour herself a second drink while Becca shoved herself through the door with a takeout bag hanging over her left wrist and her backpack over her shoulders. She was laughing.

  Kimberly cocked her head to the side as she poured, not looking into the glass—one of the many benefits and skills she’d inherited from her years in the kitchen and behind a bar as she made ends meet. Becca was talking to someone through the doorway, but Kimberly couldn’t quite make out who it was.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Finishing mixing her second drink of the evening, Kimberly made a quick albeit influenced decision. “Is that you, Becca?”

  “Yeah,” Becca called over her shoulder.

  “Who’s with you?”

  “Umm…my best friend, Drew. They were just dropping me off. Didn’t want me to Uber by myself.”

  “Uber?” Kimberly asked, making her way toward the door, her bare toes pressing into the cold tile reminding her just how exhausted she was. “You took an Uber?”

  Becca giggled. “We had one too many drinks.”

  Kimberly got to the door and opened it wide enough to see one of the most beautifully exotic people she had ever seen. They were dressed in bright colors, with glitter eyeliner, blue and purple hair that was cut short but styled so their bangs lay just right across their forehead. A black leather jacket was odd against the bright orange and yellow tie-dye crop top and short cut-off jeans.

  “And you must be Becca’s friend…” Kimberly said, extending her hand with a glint in her eye.

  “Drew, ma’am.”

  Flushing, Kimberly took their fingers gingerly and squeezed lightly. “No need to call me ma’am. Call me Kim. Which, you should definitely do, if you’re going to stay and share in some drinks. I’ve had a crappy day and would love some company if you’re up for free booze and an old, crotchety bitch.”

  “You’re not a bitch,” Becca said.

  “Of course!” Drew answered at the same time as Becca.

  Drew plowed into the house while Becca waved off the Uber. Kimberly headed to her kitchen and pulled down a few more glasses. She took out every bottle of hard liquor she could find that she knew she had, along with anything she could figure to mix it with
. Staring at it all set before her while she sipped at her own strong second drink of the evening, she finally decided what to make.

  Becca had gone to her room and shoved her backpack in there, along with giving Drew a quick tour of the house. She came in with the takeout and shoved it into the fridge. Kimberly turned her nose toward it. “Is that Chinese?”

  “Maybe…”

  “I’ll give you a raise if you share it with me.”

  Becca blanched. “I don’t share my leftover Chinese. That’s blasphemy.”

  Kimberly huffed. “Okay, but I’m not to blame if it magically disappears overnight.”

  Laughing, Becca grabbed the bag back out and pulled out two cartons, shoving them in Kimberly’s direction. “These can be fair game. The rest is mine.”

  “You’re a saint,” Kimberly whispered, squeezing Becca’s arm lightly.

  Drew leaned against the opposite counter and took the drink Kimberly offered. Becca took hers, and Kimberly dipped into the chicken fried rice and crab Rangoon, humming in pleasure as the greasy, fatty, lukewarm food hit her tongue. It was just what she needed.

  “I take it you lost,” Becca commented as she took a sip of her drink.

  Kimberly glanced from Becca to Drew and shrugged, not confirming or denying what Becca had said. “Comfort food is excellent after eating random weird concoctions all day.” With that, she took another large bite.

  Drew couldn’t take their eyes off her. Kimberly finally leaned over the counter to stare back.

  “I don’t bite, you know.”

  “Might be nice if you did, just saying.”

  Kimberly’s cheeks flushed hot, her chest constricting. She risked a quick glance at Becca and decided two could play at this game. “Why, is that what you like or she likes?”

  Becca choked on her drink. Drew casually trailed one finger in a circle on the granite counter and sheepishly turned their eyes up to Kimberly. “You’d like to find out, wouldn’t you?”