Page 3 of Hot Stuff

“Karo,” she whispered. Her dark eyes softened. A peaceful smile filled her face. “Esta linda. This is beautiful.” Her fingertips skimmed the scene I’d created on the smooth surface. I’d painted Poppy Beach’s pier with a shooting star. I set a minute on the microwave and turned to look at her.

“It’s not a big deal. It was pretty easy to paint.” I shrugged off.

“You’re so talented,” she complimented me, but I braced because I knew what came next. “And you waste it,” she muttered.

I’d been right. It was the same old argument.

Abby thought I should have gone to art school or tried to pursue an art career, but she didn’t understand I was happy with my life. I was twenty-five. We owned a nice duplex thanks to my grandparents, who had left it to us before they moved to Florida. I lived next door to not only my sister but my best friend. We had a nice-sized backyard, and we were only a ten-minute walk from the beach.

“I don’t waste it.” I laughed.

“You leave rocks all over the beach. For free.” This was the part that killed her. Where I was creative, my sister was all about numbers. “Do you have any idea how much people would pay for this?” She lifted it up, and I smiled because I wasn’t in the mood to argue. I’d been close to finishing the rock when I’d seen a star shoot across the sky. After making a wish, I’d felt like something had changed. But nothing happened. I’d left my Believe rock where I’d been sitting and left.

“I’m happy, Abby. I don’t need much. Plus, who else can say they have their dream job at my age?”

“Karolina, you work at a rec center.” She rolled her eyes, as if working for the city was the worst possible thing. But I loved it. I’d started there as a volunteer as a teenager during the summer and had worked my way up.

“Yeah, but I’m in charge of the art camps and classes. I’m not sweeping the halls anymore. I’m the city’s recreational arts director,” I reminded her. She stared at me and exhaled.

“Fine. You’re right. I didn’t mean to pick a fight.”

“I’m not the one fighting.” The microwave beeped, and I carefully pulled out my reheated dinner. “You make the best spaghetti.”

“It’s not the best. It’s decent.”

“It’s world famous compared to whatever I made if I tried.” That made both of us giggle. I was the absolute worst in the kitchen and was woman enough to admit it. I grabbed a fork and dug in. The flavors burst on my tongue, and I groaned. “What would I do without you?”

“Be DoorDash’s best customer,” she teased, but she wasn’t far off from the truth.

“Have you thought any more about the landscaping?” I asked, pointing toward the backyard with my fork. She chewed on her lower lip. This was new. I’d been ready for her to shake her head and change the subject.

But she didn't.

My parents had wanted to gift us with a backyard remodel. Originally, they’d brought it up a year ago, and we’d talked about putting in a pool. But after her accident, they hadn’t brought it up again until two weeks ago.

“Yes,” she surprised me by saying.

“That’s good. Maybe we could get a couple egg chairs and?—"

“I was thinking we should get a pool,” she blurted, and I blinked. Once. Then twice.

“A pool?” I repeated. I was probably looking at her like she had grown two heads. “A pool?”

“Yeah.” Her fingertips nervously tapped the breakfast counter. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Abby, you won’t take a bath, but you want a pool? In the backyard? Our backyard?”

“I was thinking I might take swim lessons.”

“You know how to swim?—"

“That was before—" Her voice cracked, and I frowned.

“Abby, if you’re doing it for me?—"

“No.” My sister shook her head “It’s for me. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“You have?” She opened and shut her mouth.

---