Page 31 of Melting for the Firefighter
The room was already halfway to becoming Grandma’s Garden. Now ribbon covers the table, buckets line the cabinets, and stems fill every clear surface.
Cora hums while she works.
I make sandwiches because my eggs have lost their privileges.
She reaches for a vase on the highest shelf.
Her face tightens.
One hand presses to her bruised hip.
I am beside her before the vase moves.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“Cora.”
“Lance.”
She reaches again.
I put my hands around her waist and lift her onto the counter.
Her breath catches.
So does mine.
My palms stay against her.
Soft curves fill my hands. The skirt of her dress slides above her knees, baring pale thighs.
Every useful thought burns out of my head.
“I could have sat down by myself,” she whispers.
“Took too long.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth.
I feel the pull of it everywhere.
I step back before I do something selfish.
Her bandaged hand catches mine.
“Wait.”
I stop.
Her fingers trace one of the pale scars on my forearm.
My skin goes numb beneath her touch.
“What happened?”
I could lie.
