Page 46 of The Fire

Itwould.

And in the meantime, I’d just have to be cautious. Attraction was fine. Comfort was… necessary. But I wasn’t gonna fuck up and fall for him.

I snorted.Thatwould be suicide.

I padded down the hall to the kitchen, following the smell of coffee, and heard Parker before I saw him.

“Yes, Mom. No, I’m fine. Yeah. That's why I texted you last night and… Yes, Idothink a text message is adequate communication. I let you know that I was safe, which is… No, Mom, it honestly never occurred to me that a serial killer could have taken my phone and pretended to be me. How very imaginative of you.” He paused with one hand holding the phone and the other jiggling a frying pan. “I’m very sorry to hear that Dad's cough is worse. A sore tooth too? That's… No, Mom, I don't know any disease that gives you a toothache and a cough. Have you considered talking to an actual... Uh huh. No, I see. You think he'll perk up the second I arrive, huh? Well, see if he can just hang on a couple more days.”

I leaned against the wall outside the kitchen, just as I had last night, to watch Parker work without him knowing I was there. Hewas standing at our old gas stove, scooping bacon from a frying pan onto a plate lined with paper towels one handed, wearing the same flannel pants he’d worn last night. I could honestly say that seeing what was under them hadn’t dulled my interest in the sight of his ass in those pajamas. Not in the slightest. Especially when he reached up to scrub a frustrated hand over his short hair and it did interesting things to the muscles under his t-shirt.

“No, I didn’t make it to Syracuse. I told you, I got stuck on the Camden Road. I never made it out of O’Leary.” Parker sighed. “Yes, I know. It wasveryfoolhardy. Believe me, I’ve already been read the riot act about my failure to consider consequences.”

I smothered a smile.

“I’m perfectly fine, and I’m staying with a friend. Who? Oh, it’s…” Parker did an accurate impression of a blender, hissing and clacking into the phone. “Wow! Mom? Mom? Shoot. I think the connection is going. Maybe the weather’s knocked out a tower! Mom? Moooom? Nope. I can’t hear a thing.Gosh darn it all to heck! And I was dying to hear more about Dad’s podiatrist too! Welp, if you can hear me, Mom, I’ll call you in a few days once I’ve rescheduled my flight. Love you!Byeee!” He pushed the button and threw the phone on the counter with a clatter.

“Wow,” I said, walking into the room. “That wasa five out of ten for performance,maybetwo out of ten for originality. And I’m grading on a curve.”

Parker whirled around, brandishing a bowl scraper, then straightened when he saw me. “Jesus Christ! Warn a guy.”

“Parker!” I mock-shouted. “Warning! I’m entering the kitchen!”

“Little late.Asshole.”

“Parker!” I said, opening the cabinet near his head. “Warning! I’m going to get a cup of coffee!”

“Alright, alright,” Parker grumbled, turning back to the counter. “You’ve made your point. And the coffee is in your mom’s old French press.” He nodded at the carafe on the counter. “Because there’s no power and I had to heat the water on the stove.You’re welcome.”

I grabbed the pot. “Jeez. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Wereall the coversnot enough to keep you comfy, crankypuss? Or do evening orgasms provoke this response?”

From the side, I saw him push his lips together for a second. “No. And actually, I woke up in a remarkably good mood. I, uh, slept better than I have in a long time. Hardly any nightmares. So thanks for that.”

I tried not to let that remark mean much, but something in my chest loosened at the quiet words.

“And then?” I prompted.

“And then I checked my phone and found I had four missed calls from my mother.” Parker moved to the stove and turned on the gas, then expertly lit the flame with a long-handled grill lighter.

“I see you’re making yourself right at home,” I commented. It should have been annoying, having him in my space. It was, kinda. But with Parker, it was mostly annoying because it shouldn’t have felt so normal for him to waltz back into my life. The way I felt about him cooking in my kitchen was way more frightening than my overwhelming desire to throw him to the floor and see if he still smelled like my body wash.

“Yeah, sorry. I guess I am,” Parker admitted, putting a second frying pan on to heat. “Confrontation makes me cook. Bacon?” He pointed to a plate of food beside the stove. Parker cooked when he was stressed too.Interesting.

I hefted my ass up onto the counter in the corner where I could study Parker’s face, and I grabbed a slice.

“I notice you didn’t tell your mom exactly where you were.”

The bacon was perfectly cooked—crispy and delicious—and my estimation of Parker’s skills rose another notch.

Parker snorted. “Yeah, no. I didnotfeel like explaining…this.” He twirled his spatula in the air, as if to encompass the snow, the house, andusin one tiny pronoun.

“Good call. Safe to say your mom never liked me anyway.”

“What? She liked you!”

“Please. You’re either lying or oblivious. Your dad liked me well enough because I played varsity baseball for a minute there.”

“More than a minute,” he grumbled. “Four epic seasons before you became a human speed bump and tore up your shoulder.”