Page 11 of Cabin Fever With My First Flame

“Coital bliss? Diddling? Gazzing? Smooshing? Making bacon?” Ella asks, taking pleasure in my discomfort and razzing me about it.

“Uh. Yes? Where do you come up with this stuff?” I ask, my face contorted in a mix of confusion and mild disdain. “I have never heard half of those euphemisms for such a sacred act.”

“YouTube,” she says flippantly as she tries to enter the kitchen, only to be blocked by Isaac.

Isaac has his legs spread apart and has his arms stretched out as wide as he can reach. Sounding like a cop, he barks out, “This is a restricted zone, Ma’am. You may only enter if you have the proper gear.” He points to the glass behind him and then to her feet. “Gear which you do not have. Shoes first. Coffee later.”

Ella rubs his head playfully, causing Isaac to scowl. “Alright, Napoleon. I’ll go put some shoes on, but don’t let all that power go to your head. It’s big enough as it is.”

“At least my head isn’t as big as your mouth!” Isaac shouts back.

“Both of you, cut it out,” I tell them using the “Mom” voice. It’s the tone that every mother inherently learns and one that brooks no argument. “It’s too early for bickering, and I’ve only had one cup of coffee. If you guys can hold off until I finish my second cup, that would be appreciated.”

Ella opens her mouth to retort, but then she just lets it hang there. I turn around to see what catches her attention, only to find that Finn still hasn’t bothered to put on a shirt and is carrying a small first aid kit. Ella must have been too surprised by the idea of me being pregnant to have noticed Finn’s broad chest and muscular back as he practically ran out of the room. She certainly notices now.

Finn doesn’t bother looking up. Once again, he kneels at my feet and becomes wholly focused on cleaning and dressing thewound. I can’t help but giggle when the tip of his thumb strokes the bottom of my foot. He glances up, “You’re still ticklish, I see.”

“Mmhmm.” It’s been so long since I’ve felt Finn’s touch, and it brings back a flood of memories—memories I had long since repressed. Finn and I sunbathing in our swimsuits by the lake. Finn and I holding hands in the back of his pickup truck while we watch a meteor shower. The two of us stealing kisses under the bleachers after one of his lacrosse games.

My trip down memory lane is interrupted when Mia comes in, holding Ava’s hand. “First, this place smelled like dirty socks. Now it smells like pickles. What’s next? A backed-up toilet?”

“You smell like a toilet,” Jonah says, entering the room behind them. His mop of curls is knotted and standing at full attention.

Mia spins around faster than I can blink, flinging Ava like a rag doll behind her. “Oh, my gosh! What did you do? Did you put your finger in a light socket or something?”

Jonah’s face scrunches up in confusion. “No. That would be stupid.” My daughter opens her mouth to retort, but I stop her before she escalates the situation.

“Meee-ahh,” I warn, drawing out her name so that she knows she’s treading on thin ice. “Stow it.”

“But…”

“But nothing, Mia!” I square off with my ten-year-old, ready to do battle and knowing I’ll win. “I don’t care who started it. I’m finishing it. If we’re going to be making cookies later together, I need you all to get along.”

I point towards Jonah, who is as much of an instigator as his twin brother and my ten-year-old daughter. “If I think for one second that our baking adventure today is going to end up in a food fight, I’ll put a kibosh on the whole thing!” I place my hands on my hips and make eye contact with every person in the room. “Is that understood?”

Four sets of puppy dog eyes stare back at me, but only because Ella is smirking and Micah is upstairs taking a shower. Ella walks over and leans in, “That was a great speech, Mom. However, it would have been ten times more effective if you weren’t getting doctored up while wearing pajama bottoms covered in cartoon reindeer.”

Finn starts laughing but is kind enough not to do it out loud. “I think her pajamas are cute. Ella, can you grab your mother’s shoes? I’m almost done,” he asks, smiling. Ella does as requested and grabs my pair of winter boots by the front door since my pair of slip-on sneakers are in my backpack upstairs in the bedroom.

Once Finn finishes wrapping my foot, he loosens the laces so that I can slip into my snow boots. He immediately goes to work on his next task of cleaning up the kitchen and the shards of broken glass, declining my offer to help. While the kids use the opportunity to get in some gaming, I use it to admire the way his back muscles flex as he sweeps up the glass and mops the floor.

I don’t know how long I end up staring at Finn, but I’m snapped from my overt perusal when the smell of smoke reaches my nostrils, and Isaac screams, “Fire!”

I jump into action and grab the oven mitts on the counter, shutting off the oven and opening the door. Smoke billows out, which sets the smoke alarm off and causes me to cough uncontrollably. Barely able to stay upright, I grab the muffin pan and toss it into the sink before slipping on the freshly-mopped floor.

I windmill my arms to stay upright as my boots have difficulty finding purchase on the slick tile. I accidentally smack Finn in the face as he wraps his arms around my waist reflexively, not only to stop me from flailing, but also to halt my downward trajectory. But instead of just me going down for the count, it’s the both of us—Finn twisting his body to cushion my fall.

Finn groans and closes his eyes in pain as I squirm to get off him, my elbow pressing into his gut. When he opens them, our eyes lock, and I can no longer move. I’m caught in the smolder of his dark brown eyes, remembering the countless times he held me in his arms as we sat by a campfire and how it felt to be wrapped up in his warm embrace.

“When I suggested that Finn might need a hug, this isn’t exactly what I meant by that statement,” Micah says as he peers over the counter while grinning and holding back a laugh.

“Ha! Very funny,” I reply, rolling off Finn and getting my feet under me. I turn around to help Finn up, but he’s already standing and rubbing his lower back.

“I’m going to grab a hot shower and change so I don’t smell like a pickle factory,” Finn says. “I’ll make breakfast for everyone when I’m done.”

Placing my hands on my hips, I frown. “I was planning on cooking as a thank you for rescuing us.”

Finn glances at the charred muffins and a warped pan taking up residence in his sink, then back at me. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Bailey? I have a limited supply of pots and pans in the cupboard.”

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