Page 39 of Things We Burn

Kane was telling me that I couldn’t control this, that he wouldn’t let me run. He’d chase me. And he wasn’t saying it in some toxic male kind of way. He was stating it as fact. As sure as the sky was blue, Kane was going to chase me if I ran from this out of fear.

As sure as the sun rose in the east and set in the west, Kane knew that I was his.

Yes, fear—a foreign and poisonous invader in my veins—urged me to run. To shut down and to convince this man that all of his feelings were one-sided and that I would not be submitting to him.

I opened my mouth to say that. To spout lies that would keep me safer than the truth ever could.

“I want this,” I said instead, moving my body against his finger. My eyes found azure fire. “I want us.”

His arm tightened even further. Tight enough to bruise. His gaze turned intense, claiming.

“Good,” he growled. “Now let me make sure you feel me in you all day before you run around the city.”

Seven

Kaneand I had spent every night together since we met. Since the talk we’d had in my apartment, I decided to do the unthinkable… Lean into the chaos.

He did what he had done since the first night at my restaurant, waited for me to close up, eating the plate of food I regularly prepared for him before closing the kitchen.

I liked that he fed me when we got to my place, but I also loved the intimacy of feeding him. It wasn’t something off the menu; it was whatever I was feeling at the time.Stuffed zucchini flowers, seared venison and mushrooms, cottage pie, freshly made pasta and pesto. More simple and provincial things than what I served in my restaurant. Heartier fare that I’d enjoyed across the world.

Every time he ate, he made sure to communicate just how much he enjoyed my food. And even though I had had thousands of people say similar things, it made my night. Well, various things made my nights these days, all of them connected to Kane.

My staff were used to him by then, no one asking questions. Not even Ferris. I’d told Michelle the most, that we weretogether, nothing else. That pleased her. But she didn’t press. She never did. She’d brought out a glass of whisky for Kane at the end of service, one finger. He thanked her, joked with her and my staff who were friendly but kept their distance.

Kane asked me why they didn’t ask questions, why no one took photos. I momentarily paused at the question, wondering why on earth they would take a photo of us. Then I remembered Kane was famous.

It was easy for me to forget since I hadn’t known he was famous when I met him. I didn’t go on social media—didn’t have social media—and didn’t read the kind of magazines he graced the covers of.

And whenever we were together, it was late at night, going straight to my apartment—apparently, he liked my tiny place better than the behemoth brownstone. Then he’d cook for me, something simple but delicious. Steak and salad. Spicy shrimp. Grilled cheese. And we’d have sex. A lot of it. At some point, I’d fall into unconsciousness, and then he’d wake me, either in the middle of the night or in the morning or both to fuck me again. Then, while I was getting ready, he’d get us coffee and pastries from the café on the corner. Then we’d part.

When I asked him where he went while I was working, he shrugged his shoulders, saying the gym or doing whatever publicity shit his publicist had organized for his ‘break’ before he went on tour in preparation for the X Games. He rode in tracks and entered events all over the country.

That hung over my head, the looming date of Kane’s departure. Sure, he owned an apartment in New York, but from what I could tell, he was usually on the move. Always competing somewhere, if not jumping out of planes, off bridges, riding motorcycles through South America, driving Jeeps on two wheels in the Middle East.

Somehow, I’d caught him on a rare occasion when he wasn’t defying death but living the semblance of a normal life.

Well, whatevernormallooked like for a famous daredevil.

He was obviously used to people taking photos in his presence, hence his question as to why none of the staff did it.

“Well, we have rules about doing such things in the restaurant. We do have many clients more famous than you,” I teased.

“Don’t hurt my precious ego,” he teased back, a hand splayed over his chest. “But I’m not a client. And I’m pretty sure that not everyone here is such a militant rule follower like you, Chef.”

I stiffened at his words. That’s what I was, wasn’t it? Type A, a rule follower who lived by schedules, by the clock. It had worked for me most of my life; it had been what kept me sane, that control. Now Kane seeing me that way had me suddenly uncomfortable.

I shook that feeling off.

“I’m sure they break rules sometimes, but not with you.” I looked down at the filet I was seasoning. “They’re far too afraid of me to snap a picture, considering I’d know it came from this kitchen when it came out.” I didn’t add that the position in my restaurant was too precious to risk a photo of him for. It sounded a little arrogant, even to me.

Kane’s eyes danced with amusement. “Scared? Of you?” He pulled me into his arms, kissing my head. “I like that,” he murmured against my hair.

“Areyouscared of me?” I asked, teasing once more.

Kane pushed me back to meet my eyes, all amusement gone from his. “I’m fuckin’ terrified of you, Chef.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling like all the air had gone from my lungs. This … thing between us had been all about feeling alive. About animal instincts, wanting each other.Though I had fleeting thoughts of just how deep I was in in such a short time, I quickly pushed them away.

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