Kitchen Matches

by Marianne Arkins

  “Yo, Josh.” Cori elbowed the brother nearest her. “Want to drive along today? Keep me company?”

  He snorted. “You joking? Like I don’t have anything better to do.” He jabbed his fork into the last bite of egg on her plate and stuffed it into his mouth.

  “Hey!” she protested and smacked him in the chest with the back of one hand. “Jerk. That was mine.”

  “Corrine Anne!” her mother snapped. “If you can’t refrain from name-calling, you’re not welcome in my kitchen.”

  “He started it.” She wrinkled her nose at Josh.

  “Did not.” He stuck out his tongue, keeping his back to his mother so she couldn’t see.

  Cori growled and put her plate in the sink. “I’m leaving. Anyone needing a ride comes now or walks.” She stomped out of the kitchen, half-hoping Micah wouldn’t follow. And half-praying he would.

  She heard a plate smack down on the counter and footsteps behind her. Looked like Micah was coming after all. Her heart gave a leap before she could admonish it not to get its hopes up. Micah was way out of her league, despite her attraction to him.

  She reached for the door knob and twisted, but before she could yank the thing open, Micah’s hand landed on hers and held her still.

  “Hey. Slow down a bit.” He slipped his fingers between hers and pulled her hand away. “Why do you let them get you so riled? That’s the main reason why they mess with you, you know.”

  “I’ve lived with older brothers my whole life.” She tried, and failed, to tug her hand out of his. For a skinny guy, he was pretty strong. “I know why they do what they do. I don’t need advice or anything else from you.”

  “It’s me you’re mad at, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t look at him, studying the scuffed toes of her work boots instead. His understanding, gentle tone made her ashamed of her behavior.

  “Cori.” He released her hand and grabbed her shoulders instead, turning her toward him. When she still didn’t look up, he tipped her head back with a warm finger on her chin. “Hey.”

  “What?” She hated that she sounded like a sullen five-year-old, but couldn’t seem to help herself.

  “Do you really hate having me around?” He tilted his head to one side, staring so hard she was sure he saw right into her soul.

  She shrugged. Not really an answer, but the only one she was willing to give, because the truth was—she liked having him around far too much.

  “Because, if you honestly do, I can go back to being Mr. DePalma, cooking instructor. Just say the word.”

  “Any word in particular or do I get to choose one?”

  The look he gave her silenced the next sarcastic remark sitting right on the tip of her tongue. Instead she growled low in her throat. “Fine. Gah. I don’t know what I want, Micah.” She extricated herself from him and opened the door. “And I’m not going to discuss this anywhere near any of my brothers.”

  “Then let’s go.” He held out his hand in a gesture for her to precede him.

  She was conscious of his eyes on her the entire walk to the tow truck. She didn’t know what she wanted from him, that was the God’s truth. He wasn’t like any guy she’d known before. Her brothers and Steve—they were rough and loud and rude. Strong and completely male.

  Micah was smooth and handsome and unconcerned that her brothers thought he was a girly-girl because he cooked and taught for a living. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that either.

  And why would he possibly like being around her? She was hopeless in the kitchen, hated cleaning, didn’t know how to iron. What could he possibly see in her? When he got to know her, he’d dump her. The same scenario had happened before, when she was in junior college and had the poor judgment to get mixed up with Edward, a guy who was starched white collar all the way with a silver spoon tucked into his tuxedo pocket. They’d dated awhile, and he’d made lots of promises, but when he’d met her family he’d backpedaled so fast he’d left skid marks outside the house.

  No way was she going to hook up with Micah and have her heart broken again. She’d be better off with someone like Steve, minus the whole forced sex and super-sized jealousy thing.

  She clambered into the seat and strapped in, Micah following close behind. Her shoulders bunched around her ears, her back ramrod straight. She was ridiculously uncomfortable with this whole situation but couldn’t seem to extricate herself.

  “Where’s your van?” she asked.

  “You’re not getting off that easy, Cori.” Micah secured his seat belt and stared at her. “Go ahead and drive, if you must, but we need to talk.”

  Cori swore she heard the theme from Jaws. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re so not my type.”

  “What if you’re mine?”

  She refused to look at him and, instead, started the engine. She pulled out onto the street and headed north toward the highway. “Where to, Mr. DePalma?”

  He sighed noisily. “Go north and get off at exit seven. I left the van at my house when I went home to change, so you’re taking me home.”

  Ha. He gave up nice and easy. See, she told herself in an attempt to soothe her aching psyche, he wasn’t in for the long haul. She kept her eyes fixed on the road, refusing to give in to the tears that threatened. Because she wasn’t watching him, the warm hand on her thigh made her jump and jerk the steering wheel to one side. His touch sent shocks of electricity up and down her body.

  “Cripes!” She straightened back out. “Are you trying to get us killed?” She flashed an angry look at him, disgusted to see him grinning widely.

  “Nope. Just needed to touch you, to make sure you’re warm. You’re being awfully frosty today.”

  “No more than usual.” She wiggled her thigh as far over as possible in an attempt to get away from his touch. “Would you stop that? I don’t like your hands on me.”

  “Liar.” He smiled, but pulled away from her. “What is it about me that sets you on edge?”

  “Nothing.” She threw both hands in the air for a moment before returning them to the wheel. “Everything. You’re all I’m not. Don’t you see? I’m not like you, and I won’t ever fit in. The moment you took me into your fancy-schmancy world and I used the wrong fork, our relationship would be all over.”

  “You’re making assumptions about something you know nothing about.”

  “Am I wrong?” she challenged.

  “About which part?”

  “All of it! Any of it.” She thumped the steering wheel in frustration. “I know your type. A guy like you would leave me hanging if I embarrassed you in front of your family.”

  “So you’re dumping me before that happens? Ending our relationship before it even gets a chance to begin, just so I’m not the one doing the ending? You think that makes it hurt less, makes you smarter?”

  “Yes.” She shook her head. “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about, here. There’s no relationship. We barely know each other. If this stupid touchy-feely stuff hadn’t happened, maybe we might have been friends. But not now.”

  “You think you know me so well.” His voice was a low growl. “You don’t know anything about me, Cori, because you haven’t taken the time to find out.”

  She maneuvered the truck onto the highway and refused to answer. Maybe she didn’t know him all that well, but she knew his type. She’d had her heart broken by his type. She hated his type, even if she liked him. And, darn if she didn’t like him.

  He brushed her hair away from her face, his unexpected touch making her jump. When she glanced sideway at him, he said, “If you’re repulsed by me, that’s one thing. But I don’t think you are.” He jabbed her shoulder to get her attention when she looked away.

  “Why do you care what I feel?” She kept a tight rein on her temper, but only just managed to not shriek the words at him. “There must be a hundred girls out there who would love to date you.” Like I do, she tacked on silently. “Why not them?”

  His fingers stopped jabbing at her and
drew a line of goose bumps down her arm to her hand. “Because they aren’t you. They’re average, dull. You’re not. You intrigue me.”

  How did he know the exact thing to say to let all the heat out of her anger? “Oh, Micah.”

  He reached out and took her hand. She let him keep it. They drove, connected but silent, except when Micah murmured directions, the rest of the way to his house.

  She was surprised to find that, although he lived in a really nice part of town, he had a very modest home. The postage-stamp lawn was neat as a pin, with perfectly trimmed bushes and tidy flower gardens.

  “Wow, who’s your landscaper?” She turned off the engine and hopped down from the truck, unable to resist a closer look. She and her mom tried to keep up their own yard, but never seemed to manage to green up their black thumbs.

  Micah joined her, squatting down in front of a garden full of flowers in riotous pinks and purples. “I am.” He gently touched the petals of one flower on a compact rose bush, before plucking the blossom and handing it to her.

  She couldn’t help but be charmed. She took the sweet gift from him and pressed it to her nose. The flower smelled even better than it looked, which was saying something. She hadn’t gotten flowers from anyone in a very long time. Her family and friends usually gave her practical gifts like seat covers or tools. They didn’t see her as frivolous. Or feminine.

  Micah did.

  She lifted her eyes up without moving her head and found him watching her. How was it possible that this man she barely knew had managed to peel back her outer layers to find the woman underneath, when no one else ever had?

  She knew then she’d look back someday and know for certain that she began her tumble into love while looking over a rose. And that thought made her all but leap out of her skin. She couldn’t fall for this man.

  “So.” She dropped her hand with the flower to her side. “Slumming it?”

  His soft smile faded at her words. “Excuse me?”

  “You obviously don’t belong here. Did Mommy and Daddy lengthen the leash a little and let you play at being middle-class? Or are you house-sitting for a friend?”

  He gave a small shake of his head, and his lips twisted into a hard line. “Fine. You want to be contentious? To end things this way? You got it. I don’t have the energy to fight you any more.” He shrugged. “You win. Happy?”

  Cori’s chest ached with the pain of her heart breaking, but better now, before she was desperately attached, than later on when losing him would do more than ache. It would kill her to let him leave after spending more time together.

  “You bet I am. And now, I’m gone.” She pivoted on her heel and started for the truck, completely oblivious to the world around her. So, when Micah grabbed her arm and yanked her against him, she was so surprised she forgot to struggle.

  “You’re an idiot.” He whispered the words against her lips the moment before he crushed them with his own.

  If she’d thought his first kiss was hot, she hadn’t realized the full potential of that mouth. The heat from his lips, his tongue, his hands, consumed her from the inside out. She burned for him—moth to flame. Part of her knew she should fly away from this inferno that would devour her, but she couldn’t do more than hold on tight.

  Her arms slipped around his waist, her hands crept up to his shoulders and clung. If she let go, she would surely tumble to the ground. Her fingertips brushed his hair, and she was aware of every nerve ending in her body, each attuned to him.

  His hands moved from her shoulders to her butt, cupping the curves, caressing them, and tucking her firmly against him. She opened to him, her mouth, her arms, her heart, and let him in. She rubbed her pelvis against his, brutally aroused by the embrace.

  He snaked a hand under her shirt, soft fingertips kneading her back, pressing her even closer. She couldn’t get enough of him. She grabbed his head and held him in place, turning her head to deepen the kiss. Their tongues mated frantically, and when his hand slipped up her waist to brush the side of her breast she inhaled sharply.

  And then she was free.

  She stumbled back, tripped over the curb and fell to the hard pavement, rapping her head on the tow truck bumper.

  “What the—” She rubbed the back of her head with one hand, and her chest with the other. She wasn’t sure but that her chest with its bruised heart hurt more than her head. Her head was tougher.

  “Goodbye, Cori.” Micah, usually a gentleman, stood over her and didn’t even offer a hand up. His eyes were sad, the saddest she’d ever seen, but his jaw was set and his lips pressed together. Determined.

  With one last long look, he turned and left her sitting in the gutter with nothing but a lump on her skull and a broken heart.

  “‘Bye, Micah,” she whispered and climbed to her feet, trying to be glad things had worked out the way she’d wanted.

  He was gone. And that was good.

  But the fact he’d done exactly as she’d asked didn’t make her feel any better.

  Chapter Four

  Micah didn’t lose his cool until he made it inside with the door closed behind him. He refused to let that foolish woman know how badly her attitude upset him. Once inside, though, he grabbed for the nearest thing he could find—an umbrella from the stand beside the door—and chucked it as hard as he could against the wall. With the precision of a professional knife-thrower, he managed to stab the pointed top right into the drywall. The umbrella hung there for a moment, then slowly fell to the floor, taking a big chunk of the entryway wall with it.

  “Well, hell.” He scrubbed fingers through his hair. “Couldn’t do that again if I tried.” He shook his head and laughed.

  “Micah!” His mother’s horrified voice sounded from the living room doorway. “What have you done?”

  “Torn a hole in my wall, apparently.” He stifled a sigh, utterly exhausted and not in the mood to deal with his mother right at the moment. Not that he had a choice, since she was camped in his house. He’d stupidly given her a key for emergencies when he’d bought the house, and she used it with great regularity. Perhaps today would be a good day to ask for it back. “What are you doing here this early?”

  She drew herself up and pursed her lips. “Waiting for you. Where have you been?”

  He twisted his mouth into a bitter smile. “At a friend’s house, Mother. Though I’m not certain why I have to account for my whereabouts to you. I am an adult, after all.” He shrugged out of his windbreaker and hung it in the entryway closet before joining his mother in the other room. She wasted no time in getting down to business.

  “I’m having a dinner party next Saturday. I need you to cater and be a sixth.” She pulled out her BlackBerry and began pressing keys. “I’ll expect you at four to begin cooking and I’ve emailed you the menu.”

  “What if I’m busy?”

  She barely lifted her gaze, but did arch one eyebrow. “You’re never busy.”

  Micah snorted. Boy, that comment, along with the tone in which it was delivered, sure said something about his pathetically underwhelming social life. “I am now.” Or, he would be. He’d make certain of that, no matter if he had to pick up garbage on the riverbank.

  “Busy with that low-class truck driver I saw you with outside? Who is she, anyway? I couldn’t see her face for all your…coziness.”

  Well, hell. Seemed Cori had his mother pegged. Wouldn’t that be a problem when he brought her home for dinner? Good thing he didn’t care. “What difference does it make who she is or what she does for a living?”

  “It makes a world of difference, Michelangelo Frederic DePalma.” She jammed her fists onto her bony hips, eyes wide. “People like her don’t fit in with people like us.”

  Micah laughed at his mother’s outrage. “Good grief, Mother. I don’t fit in with people like us. And yet you insist on forcing my attendance at your parties. Why would Cori be any different?”

  When she opened her mouth to respond, he held up a hand. “Never mind. I�
�m tired and want to lie down for a bit. I’ll cook for your party, but will need to be done by two. You can hire someone else to serve. If that won’t work with your schedule, you’ll need to find another caterer.” He wrapped an arm around her nearly non-existent shoulders and guided her to the front door. “Have a good day.”

  Before she could complain, he pushed her gently out of the house and closed the door behind her. A few moments later, he realized he’d forgotten to ask for his key. He’d do it on Saturday.

  Right now, he needed to plan his attack on Cori’s heart. With a smile, he wandered into the kitchen and picked up the phone.

  —

  Cori dragged herself through the next three days, welcoming the normality of the dull day-to-day routine. Still, it must have been apparent she was miserable, because even her brothers’ teasing was minimal and they, every now and then, did something nice for her without being asked.

  It didn’t help that she seemed to stumble over bits of Micah everywhere she went. Tuesday, she came home from work to find the front of the house landscaped differently. It was lovely. New bushes guarded the steps. Riots of flowers filled the area in front of the porch.

  “Wow, Mom!” Cori said as she walked into the kitchen and scooped up a fresh-baked cookie. “You outdid yourself today.”

  “Actually, it was all Micah. He brought flats of stuff from the garden place up the road and roped Josh, Zach and Nick into helping.” Her mother finished carefully placing dabs of cookie dough on parchment paper and slipped the pan into the waiting oven. “He’s a wonderful boy. Maybe his manners will rub off on your brothers.”

  And then, her mother did the worst thing yet. She handed Cori a potted rose plant and card. “He said to give this to you when you got home.”

  The card was nothing, really. Just a silly ditty about dogs and plants. But it was clear he’d chosen it carefully and with her in mind. Cori tucked the card into a drawer, and put the plant on her nightstand.