Chapter 3 #3
“This is me,” I add as soon as we make it to the cabin. All the lights are on so you can see through almost every window to the mess inside.
“Do you want me to bring this inside?”
“No!” I answer, and before he can argue, I grab the box from him. “Thank you so much. You’ve done enough. I’m, I, well, I’m going inside.”
I open the door, but before I step in, I say, “Hey, bee tee dubs, could you maybe not tell Lilly about the whole gas scenario yesterday?”
He doesn’t ask further questions. “Not a problem. I’m right there if you need anything.”
Okaaay then. Quiet, not curious, helpful. I think we’ll be the best neighbors.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thank you so much!”
He leaves as soon as the door closes behind me.
Phew, okay. Crisis averted.
The smell of delicious food will always be my favorite thing. I forget to eat often, but it gives me a dopamine hit to enjoy something I made with my own hands. As long as I can remember to cook it, that is.
A pot pie is in the oven; it needs some extra time, which is perfect for me to take a quick shower and get ready for dinner and coloring.
Growing up, it was my dad’s thing to cook with me. Not because I was any good at it, but because it was the only time they could keep me entertained and contained inside the house for long enough. I also eat pretty much anything, so it was a win-win.
I don’t remember the first time it started, the cooking, but I remember the last time we did it together.
It was after Mom died, and he was so sad.
I tried to cheer him up. It didn’t help, though; nothing could.
He gave his entire heart to Mom when they met, and it beat just for her until hers stopped, and his followed suit.
Tied souls; when one left, the other couldn’t survive without its missing tether.
There’s not enough time to wash my hair tonight, but a quick rinse is on the books. I make a mental note to text Willa tomorrow and let her know about Lilly saying yes to the job and giving me more responsibilities. She’s going to be so proud of me, and I’m here for it.
I also hope I can make them proud with my actions too, show them I’m capable of a lot, and, in the process, remind myself of that too.
Not enough time to wash my hair, my ass, because this water, at the perfect temperature, is calling to me. I can take an extra ten minutes and wash it. Nobody’s waiting for me, I don’t have anything to do—it’s perfect.
Perfect.
Except now, the water has gone almost cold, a mood killer for sure, but not more than the alarming beeping from somewhere in the house.
The hell?
I wrap a towel around my body and rush out of the foggy bathroom, just to find the rest of the cabin is foggy too. I rub my eyes, making sure I’m seeing right, but I am. There’s fog everywhere.
Oh, no, no, no.
That’s not fog.
That’s smoke.
Smoke!
And the beeping? An alarm.
The freaking fire alarm is going off.
No, no, no!
I open the back door and rush to the front to do the same.
Shit, shit, shit. I hold the towel with one hand, making sure it stays put, and open the oven door.
Wrong idea.
The instant urge to cough out a lung comes with the alarm blasting and even more smoke pouring out like it’s going out of style.
Jesus.
I stick my hand in to grab the pan. “Ouch!” I shout, dropping the pan I just tried to grab with my bare hands—only for it to land on my foot.
“No!” I hop on my unburned leg. No, no, no! What the fuck was I thinking?
“Hello?” a voice shouts from the door.
“It’s fine!” My reply comes back frenetic, making sure they know I’m okay. “Nothing to worry about here. Just a litt—” cough “—le mis—” cough “—hap!”
I open the faucet and stick my hand under the cold water.
“What in the—” The words trail off; the voice is closer to me than before.
I turn to find Dom in front of me. He’s shocked at first as his eyes roam from the stove to the pot pie in shambles over the wooden floor, then to my foot as he flinches.
Yeah, it’s nasty red. And then, everything happens in slow motion.
His eyes climb up my body, and his expression shifts from concern to something that makes his light, almost sienna, skin flush red with surprise before he looks away. The hell?
Oh.
My.
God.
Oh my God. I search for the towel I must have dropped at some point and pick it up while coughing and covering my body—or attempting to, at least. I step on the pot pie. “Fuck!” I shout as I move my previously uninjured foot off the hot as fuck, now ruined dinner.
“Stop moving!” he commands.
“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one showing the new neighbor all your bits while your cabin is on fire!”
The lines around his eyes crease deeper as he shakes his head, and, holy shit, he picks me up, my ass out—though he doesn’t take a second to look at anything.
“Put me down!”
He struts through the house, ignoring my demand until we’re outside. I fix the towel as soon as my feet touch the ground, blowing away the piece of hair stuck to my face.
“Don’t move,” he adds, stepping back into my house, firefighter-style, and saving me from danger.