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Cooper turned her way, and that smile caught fire. “Morning, beautiful! Yes, I did. I gotta head out in about an hour, and I’m gonna be gone for a few days, so I wanted to, you know, go out making sure you think fondly while I’m away.”
As she came into the kitchen, he met her and pulled her in for a kiss. She gave him a peck and then leaned back. “Yeah, but a Dutch baby? I didn’t even know you could cook.”
“Sure. I’ve been cooking for myself since I was a kid. My folks weren’t really into the family meal thing, so I learned to do it myself.”
Another melancholy piece of his life shared as if it meant nothing.
“You fix cars. You’re a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. You speak at least two languages. And you cook, too?”
His grin was going to cripple her. “What can I say? I’m a renaissance man.”
“The bacon is burning,” Geneva said, and Cooper let Siena go with a gentle swat of her ass.
“So turn the burner down,” he said as he turned back to the stove. “Here. You take these strips off and put them on the paper towels.”
Siena went to Geneva and tugged gently on her ponytail. “Morning, honey.”
“Good morning,” Geneva answered without turning from her task.
Feeling pampered and warm and happier than she had in years, Siena took a mug from the cupboard and poured herself a cup of coffee.
She sighed at the first sip. He made great coffee, too.
“Okay. Who’s hungry?” he asked as he picked up the skillet.
“I told you I was,” Geneva said.
“I totally am,” Siena answered.
Geneva brought the bacon over, Cooper brought the skillet, Siena brought her coffee, and they all sat together for a family breakfast.
Cooper took Siena’s plate and served her, then Geneva, and then himself. As they all dug in—and of course it was as delicious as its aromas promised—Siena marveled.
How had her life changed so quickly? How had so much become so good so fast?
And more importantly: would it last?
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~oOo~
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Afew days later, thenight before Cooper was due back from his ‘run,’ Siena woke to the strident screech of an alarm she didn’t remember setting. She slapped around on her bedside table, trying to find the clock to turn the ear-shattering thing off, but she couldn’t find it.
Then she started coughing, and once she started, she couldn’t stop. As she sat up in the dark, trying and failing to get control of the cough, consciousness came on her like a window shade rolling up, and she realized several horrifying facts in rapid-fire succession.
It wasn’t an alarm clock. She didn’t set the alarm on her clock. She used her phone. The alarm she heard was the smoke detectors. There were three in the house: one between the kitchen and the dining area. One in the hallway outside Geneva’s room, and one in here. She thought all three were going, out of sync.
They were going off for the same reason she couldn’t stop coughing: the house was filling up with smoke.
Her room wasn’t pitch dark. Orange light wavered outside the windows, bright enough to glow through her closed curtains.
The house was on fire.
Geneva!
She stopped thinking and started moving. Feeling like each burst of coughing stole more of her capacity for breath, Siena rolled from her bed to the floor. On her hands and knees, she hurried to the door.
