One Night Flame

by Beverly Evans

  It’s an oldies playlist. Not too offensive.

  We get back to our work, making pretty quick progress.

  “What the hell is this blade?” He asks, holding up my mandolin slicer, then my tortilla press. “And this thing?”

  “A mandolin slicer and a tortilla press.” His confusion makes me smile. “First thing cuts things in thin slices. Second thing presses tortillas.”

  “You make tortillas?” He put the things in their proper place.

  “It’s super easy. Like, a little kid could make a good one.” I finish up my last box, pulling out the one bottle of wine the movers packed away.

  “You want to teach me? I want to test that theory, and by test, I mean destroy.”

  He’s bending over and smiling up at me, and I hate how stupidly good he looks in nearly every position. His teeth are perfect too, which somehow makes it worse.

  “Is that a challenge?” I finally manage to say.

  “Yep.” He stands back up and puts the last bin to the side. “Want to crack that bottle open?”

  “Oh, sure.” I grab the corkscrew and open the bottle with relative success. I pour us each a glass.

  We clink our glasses together and sip.

  “But seriously, I don’t think I could make even the simplest recipes,” he chuckles, looking at me over his glass. I’m not sure if it’s the evening sun or not, but the look in his brown eyes has me confused and fluttery.

  I don’t think he’s flirting with me — it could just be my dumb hormones flying into overdrive — but I can’t rule it out. I look down into my cup, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden before pulling it back together.

  “I can teach you something simple,” I say, trying to sound decidedly, not flirty.

  “Does tonight work? I was going to watch a UFC event and would love to make something that’s not a microwave burrito to eat while I watch.”

  The idea of him eating a microwave burrito alone on a Saturday night is weirdly sad. But I guess I’d probably do something similar if I was left alone.

  “Okay, sure,” I nod before I can stop myself. When my rational brain catches up to the conversation, I ask, “Is Andy coming?”

  I can’t let myself be alone with Noah, especially if we’re going to be in close quarters. What happened to my firm resolution to pay attention to all those old red flags? One look at him and a few nice words, and it’s like I’m overtaken with amnesia. Andy’s a great buffer in any situation, and the combination of the two of them will make me remember that there are reasons I shouldn’t touch Noah with a ten-foot pole.

  “He can.” Noah pulls out his phone, presumably to text him. “What are we going to make?”

  “What do you like?”

  “Anything, honestly.” His expression turns sheepish. “Tacos?”

  “Sure, those can be easy.” I have an easy recipe I used to make when I had the will to.

  “Cool, Andy’s in.” He puts his phone back in my pocket. “You’ll probably need to bring over all the tools. You want me to buy the groceries? You can give me a list, and I’ll run out to the store. You probably need a little rest.”

  He’s right — I do feel a little tired all of a sudden.

  “That sounds good, thank you.”

  He hands over his phone, and I put the list in his notes app. He looks down at it like I’ve just written in hieroglyphs.

  “You got this?” I ask.

  “Probably. Doesn’t look too hard.” He tucks his phone into his pocket. “See you in a bit.”

  He strolls out the door, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I know I need a nap, so I go to the living room and curl up on the couch. An hour later, I wake up disoriented, my phone ringing. I answer it before I even register who it is.

  “Hey, I’m back from the store. You ready?” Noah asks. I hear Mabel bark in the background, and he shushes her.

  “Oh, yeah,” I croak, rubbing my eyes.

  “Did I wake you up from the dead?” He sounds amused.

  “I’m good. Everything’s fine. Be there in a little bit.”

  I gather a few of the tools I’ll need — the tortilla press, tongs, a spatula, good knives, and all that. I assume he has pots and pans. At least, I really hope he does.

  The door to his house is unlocked, so I walk right in. The contrast between his house and mine is immediately clear. It’s beautiful, somehow looking like the house probably did when it was newly built and modern. The floors are new, and the colors are all very masculine. Mabel comes running into the entryway, barking until she realizes it’s me. She wags her tail and gets under my feet.

  “Worst guard dog ever,” I laugh, trying to walk around her.

  “Yeah, she loves pretty much every human. I’m screwed if someone actually breaks in,” Noah smiles, coming around the corner.

  He’s wearing a fresh t-shirt and running shorts, not too different from what he wore earlier, but somehow my body still responds the same way — lighting up like a Christmas tree. I hate myself for it.

  “I hope I didn’t fuck up these groceries,” he says, leading me to the kitchen after taking my bags from my hands.

  My jaw drops when I take the place in. It’s just as high end as my mom’s kitchen, but on a smaller scale. The appliances are brand new and stainless steel, and there’s a massive island in the middle that actually gives me space to prep things. He must have taken down a wall or two because I can see into his living room. He has a massive flat-screen TV on the wall and a big leather couch. A dining table is a little farther off, separated from the living room by a rug.

  “You don’t know how to cook, but you have this incredible kitchen?” I blink and stare at him. “You’re insane. I would kill to have this place.”

  “That’s not the first time you’ve told me that I'm insane.” He opens the fridge and puts a bunch of bags on the island.

  “Maybe because it’s true.” I start taking out the food from the bag, item by item.

  The recipe is stupidly easy, so the ingredients shouldn’t have been hard to find. He got the chicken thighs right, and the salsa. The masa isn’t the brand I would have chosen, but it’s fine.

  “Not bad,” I nod, once everything’s out and in its proper place.

  “Do I get an A-plus?” he asks, resting his big hands on the island countertop.

  “Just an A,” I smirk. “Don’t get cocky.”

  “Too late.” He reaches into the fridge. “Want a beer?”

  “Sure, I guess.” I gather the materials to make the chicken. He slides a beer across the counter, and I catch it just in time.

  “Show me your chef ways, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Noah says, leaning against the counter.

  My back is mostly turned to him, but I feel his eyes on my body. My knee-jerk reaction is to freeze up a little, against my better judgment. I recover and start with the meat, waving him over.

  “So, you’re going to start with this,” I instruct, opening the chicken thighs.

  He’s standing really close to me, but just far enough away for it to be weird if I moved to escape. I can almost feel his body heat and smell his soap. He must have showered before I came over. Does that mean anything? He didn’t get dressed up, which would have been weird also. He just needed to freshen up. It doesn’t mean anything. One shower isn’t enough effort for it to be a sign.

  A sign of what, though? Flirting?

  I feel like I did in high school with my various crushes. Everything a guy did in my general direction meant something. That kind of thinking led to me fawning over Grant.

  I shake my head and focus on the food. He watches me intently as I guide him through the stupidly easy recipe — sear the chicken on both sides, dump the salsa and a bit of chicken broth in, and let it simmer until it’s ready. When we move onto the tortillas, he’s clearly impressed. I let him press the tortillas while I cook them.

  “Hey, not yet!” I turn and catch him stuffing a tortilla into his mouth like a kid sneaking cookies.


  “It’s warm, though,” he says through a full mouth, somehow smiling through the words. It’s adorable, even though I hate it when people talk with their mouths full.

  “Now we have to make another one,” I sigh, pointing to the tortilla press.

  “Fine, fine,” he says, swallowing. “Does this mean that I get points off my grade?”

  “Yep.”

  “Ouch,” he says, putting his hand to his chest like I’d stabbed him. “Such a harsh teacher, Ms. Nadine.”

  He smirks and gives me a once over that has me blushing. The way he said my name… I like the way it sounds on his lips, like it feels good to him. It sounds sexual. I look back at him, trying to decipher what’s going on in the air. It’s the same look that he gave me back at the gym like he wants me in his bed. I clutch the handle of the tortilla press.

  I can’t do this again.

  “Yo, I’m here!” Andy shouts from the front of the house. He shuts the door, and Mabel goes running to greet him.

  I sag with relief against the counter. I’ve never been so glad for Andy to arrive in my whole life.

  Chapter Ten

  Noah

  “Did everyone go to the bathroom? We’re going to be on the road for a while,” Dad says, adjusting his baseball hat. He’s in full vacation mode, which means he looks like he walked into an outlet mall that only dads have access to — light blue denim shorts, a polo shirt, and sneakers.

  “We’re good, honey,” Babs nods, looking over her shoulder at the SUV we’d rented for the weekend.

  It’s stuffed to the brim like we’re going away for a week with all sorts of crap. We’re going to two air-conditioned cabins, so why is there a cooler taking up a whole seat? Where did Dad unearth his fishing rods from, and will he actually go fishing? Why is there a massive suitcase back there too? Then again, there are six of us — my dad, Babs, me, Andy, Andy’s girlfriend Angela, and Nadine.

  “Let’s go, then,” Dad says.

  “I call the middle row,” Andy calls.

  “That’s not fair. You and Angela can be squished together in the back row,” Nadine says, shooting him a dirty look. I’m giving him the same look.

  I can’t be crammed between Nadine and a cooler for four hours. Hell, I can’t be crammed next to Nadine for fifteen minutes, especially now. She looks hot but seems unaware of it, which somehow makes her hotter. She’s got on a tiny pair of shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves haphazardly cut off. It’s a little short, so I keep getting flashes of her smooth, tanned stomach.

  The fact that we’re surrounded by family is making me painfully conscious of every look I give her. I can’t stare at Nadine’s ass with Andy and Babs inches away. And this is with all of her clothes on. I overheard her talking to Angela about how many bikinis she brought and where she got them, so that’s another hurdle I’m going to have to jump without making a fool of myself. The last time I saw her with so few clothes on was when we fucked.

  Jesus, maybe I should have asked Jade for one last hookup before breaking things off, just to ease the pressure. I’ve been trying to chase her down for a while to break it off in person, even though we weren’t actually dating, but she travels a lot for work. She always answers my texts and usually responds with a sexy picture, which I don’t want on my phone anymore.

  My entire sexual focus is on Nadine, for better or worse. I can’t go without touching her much longer, especially if I’m going to have to see her traipsing around in a bikini for days.

  “I’m taller than you though, and Ang is taller than Nadine,” Andy points out, pulling down the middle seats so someone can crawl into the back.

  “You’re taller than me by half an inch.” I try to glare him down, but he’s grinning at me like an idiot.

  “Get in the car, you all,” Dad orders, hopping in the driver’s seat.

  “Fine, I’ll get in the back,” Nadine mutters, crawling into the back and wedging herself inside next to the cooler. Andy looks at me, and I sigh.

  “Fine. But on the drive back, we have to switch,” I say, taking my spot.

  There’s maybe an inch between my leg and Nadine’s, and that’s only because she has her knees pressed together. Her hip is touching mine. I keep my hands in my lap, so I don’t have to touch her any more than I have to. I can smell her shampoo since her hair is still damp, tucked under a pink baseball hat. She always smells so damn good, even though she doesn’t wear a ton of perfume or anything.

  She pulls out her e-reader and turns it on. Before she can switch to another book, my eye catches the words, ‘cock’ and ‘lust’ on the screen. She doesn’t notice that I notice, but now I can’t un-know that she reads those kinds of books. The thought of her, so put together and reserved, getting off to some book alone in her room at night has me putting my backpack on my lap to hide my hardening cock. I rummage through it like I’m trying to find something.

  Unfortunately, I can’t seem to find my fucking restraint.

  Nadine gets absorbed into another book, and I try to sleep. This trip is the first time that I’ve had a vacation since my promotion, and I’m happy to get some rest, especially since it’s early. I pass out, waking up only when we stop for gas, and again when we pull up to the lake cabin grounds. It’s beautiful, with old trees shading the dirt road we’re driving on. A few minutes later, we’re parked behind two cabins a short walk apart from each other.

  “Okay, all of you kids are in that cabin,” Dad points, handing me a key ring with several keys on it. “We’re in that one over there. Go get settled, and then we can make some lunch if you’re hungry.”

  I lead us to our cabin. It’s got a nice, homey feel that I like, and it has a nice living room area that looks comfortable. I can tell it’s been renovated relatively recently. Even so, there’s only a small mini-fridge, and the AC is a window unit that isn’t quite doing the job, at least on this level.

  “How are we picking bedrooms?” Angela asks, squeezing Andy’s hand.

  “Let’s look at them first,” I suggest, heading up the stairs.

  To my surprise, there’s only one bedroom up here, the master bedroom. There’s a huge bathroom attached. Besides a closet in the hall, there isn’t much else.

  “I guess this is you guys,” I say to Andy and Angela. “I doubt the other two rooms are this big.”

  “Works for us.” Andy shrugs and goes back downstairs to grab their stuff.

  I go back down with Nadine and find the other two bedrooms. One is directly below the master bedroom, and the other is directly next to it, connected by a bathroom right between them that both of us need to share, with a door on each side. It’s pretty small, but it’ll get the job done. I’m just glad to be in a different room than her.

  “Do you have a bedroom preference?” I ask Nadine. They’re both pretty much the same.

  “That one’s fine, I guess.” She points to the one that we aren’t in.

  We go get our things and settle down. Since I’ve napped, I’m feeling a little too wired to be stuck inside. I head back out and take a look around. The lake is a few yards away, glinting in the sunlight. There’s a fire pit and a grill down there too. Even though neither of us are great cooks, Dad can grill pretty good stuff if he wants to. I mean, I wouldn’t flat out ask him to grill if someone else is available, but he’d do it anyway.

  Almost as if on cue, Dad comes outside with the cooler, trailed by Babs.

  “We’re making burgers,” Dad calls over. “And by we, I mean, I need to hand the reins over to Babs.”

  “Finally, you admit it,” Babs laughs, kissing Dad on the cheek. “They’ll be ready in twenty minutes or so.”

  “Need help?” I ask, sitting down at the picnic table. Not that I could do much besides open a package of buns.

  “Nope, you can just relax.” Babs smiles at me and starts to work.

  I stretch out my legs, letting them warm in the sun and pull out my phone. I check my work email, even though I know I should just relax, and
see two new emails from my boss. I open the first one, with the subject line, ‘Sweet Hill Neighborhood Fire’. I hadn’t been on duty for this one, which had happened earlier this week. The email’s a rundown of the situation — it was another house fire, newer construction building that should have been up to code to prevent this kind of thing. Based on the info, it looks like it was an electrical fire. Not too farfetched, but the fact that the owners are another young family has me on alert.

  The next email is about another fire, and this time my brain goes into high alert. The fire was in the same neighborhood but in the community pool house. I send myself an email to remind myself to look into the records about the fire inspection of that whole neighborhood. I know it’s probably just an electrical error, but still. It’s strange for this many fires to be this close together, this often.

  I don't have access to all my files, so I can't check the chemical breakdown of the accelerant or the trails. But I can search the families and see if they're connected.

  I look up the names of the families and do a simple social media comb. No connections to each other that I can see, but that doesn't mean much. And if it were romantic jealousy or something, wouldn't it make more sense for just one or two houses to get torched?

  Serial arsonists aren't common, but I can't rule them out.

  I know the names on the mortgages of the Sweet Hill house and the last two I was in, so I do a deeper search on them. They’re all the kinds of people who have thousands of friends and post about everything in their lives openly. Combing through all of this on my phone is a chore, but I prefer it to thinking about Nadine.

  The first man posts a lot about his family and what they’re up to. Someone could easily track his movements if they really want to. The woman who owns the second house runs a private Facebook group for mothers going back to work in our town that I obviously won’t get access to. I make a note of it anyway. Besides the fact that I could easily find out where these people are at any time or know what they’re into, I can’t find any leads in their feeds.

  I dig through their friend lists next. Since I’m logged into my personal account, mutual friends pop up. All of us share Henry and this chick I knew in high school who I’m surprised is still friends with me after a disastrous hookup in the back seat of my car. Now she’s a mom and has a decent looking husband, so I clearly didn’t cause her long-term damage despite the fact that it was the most awkward, unsexy hookup I’ve ever had. I’m pretty sure she kneed me in the balls by accident.