Page 28 of One Wrong Move

“Harper!” I holler. I drop my briefcase and rush through the living room. “Harper?”

The beeping is coming from the kitchen. It’s almost impossible to hear anything over the piercing sound. Where is she? What’s happened?

I find her in the kitchen. She’s standing with her back to me—the oven door is down, and smoke rises in a thick column from the inside—while she’s waving a towel in the direction of the gaping back door.

“Harper!” I yell. She doesn’t hear me, so I walk around the counter. “Harper?”

She jumps back with a shriek, her eyes wide. “Shit! Nate?”

“What’s happened?”

“I tried to bake!” There’s frantic energy in her movements. I can barely hear her over the incessant alarm, and it’s starting to make my ears ring.

I grab one of the dining room chairs and scan the ceiling. There. Climbing up, I reach until I can grab the damn thing and twist it off, then press the button.

Everything goes mercifully quiet.

“Nate. I’m so sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, there’s no fire or anything. Just a lot of smoke.” She coughs and keeps fanning the oven. The cloud of black has started to dissipate. Rushing toward the open door to the garden and freedom.

“What were you doing?”

“I was trying to bake. It didn’t go… great.”

The tame use of words makes me laugh. I lean against the kitchen island and just watch her, standing in an apron I didn’t know I owned, waving a beige towel. Her blonde hair is secured in a giant hair clip but small curls have fallen out, framing her face.

“Glad you’re finding this funny,” she says, but she’s smiling, too.

“How could I not?” The inside of the oven is marked by sooty stains. “What were you trying to make?”

“Scones.”

“Scones,” I repeat. Then, I chuckle again. “Aren’t they very simple?”

“Okay, do you know how to make them?”

“No,” I admit. “But if eating them counts, I have my fair share of experience.”

“Yes, well, the butter… melted. I don’t think I used the right tray. It dripped onto the bottom of the oven, and when I opened the door…” She stops waving the towel, standing up straight. “It billowed out.”

“Mm-hmm. Trying to burn down my house on day one?” I cross my arms over my chest and try to hide my amusement. “You’re making me think you want to go back to the bug-infested hellhole.”

Harper rolls her eyes. I love it when she does that. “At least there’s no oven there, so I’m safe from my own stupid ideas.” She cradles her right hand, absently touching a finger. “And I managed to burn myself. Fantastic.”

I step closer, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some cold water on it.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea…” She steps to the sink and my hand falls away, where it belongs at my side. “I feel so stupid. I’m sorry Nate, this isn’t what I intended for you to come home to. I didn’t know if you’d be home at all, and I thought… I just wanted to try making scones.” She blows out a heavy sigh. “Guess trial batch number one didn’t go so well.”

I look at the small golden lumps lined up on a tray left on the counter. “They look good.”

“They look awful.”

“Edible, though.”

She gives me a withering look. “Barely.”

---