Page 23 of She's Got that Fire

LIAM

* Three Years Later *

My wife reminds me of a mad scientist. Looking out the back window, I watch as Opal thumbs the remote start for her video camera while sprinkling different compounds and chemicals into the flames dancing in her giant firepit.

This time, the flames are framing several bottles of organic, chemical-free nail polish. I have no idea where she finds these fascinating opportunities, but she's been shooting a lot of content for a slew of products these days.

I can tell that she's been in the zone for a while. Her long blonde hair is tied up in a disorganized topknot, and she's wearing her usual stretched-out sweater – this one bright mauve.

Since my annual two-week summer firefighting training ended yesterday, I've spent the day driving all over town doing small roof repair jobs. The work was easy and mostly involved chatting with clients, leaving me strangely energized.

After throwing together a baked pasta dish, I slip it into the oven and take a quick shower. Then I make a salad and set the table.

Just after I pour some wine for us, I look out the kitchen window to see Opal's head snap up. She looks around, as if just becoming aware that it's growing dark fast.

Using specially designed tongs, she pulls the bottles out of the fire, dropping them into a large bucket of sand to cool off. Then she mists the entire area with water. Once the fire is out, she sprays everything down again, just in case.

Of course, I will check it again after dinner.

She has never once made a mistake with this routine. My sweet girl is even more meticulous about fire safety these days, and I appreciate that. We've had many long discussions, and by now she's heard too many stories of what I and other members of the VFFT have seen over the years. She was always relatively careful, but now she is unbelievably particular, since she knows I'll be taking full responsibility should anything go wrong.

Even though with both of us watching out for her, nothing ever will.

Opal comes in the side door, setting down her camera bag. She flashes me a dazzling smile, then washes her hands and slips her rings back on, which were sitting on the side counter in a miniature crystal bowl. She loves the fire opal engagement ring I gave her but doesn't want it damaged or stained from any of the compounds she uses.

"How’d the shoot go?" I ask, taking the pasta out of the oven.

"Amazing." She brings the salad to the table. "I think I shot five times the content they need, so I'll give them twice as much once I whittle it all down."

"Perfect."

I serve the pasta, as she dips her finger into a drop of the sauce. Then she looks up at me, her beautiful blue eyes blazing.

I've learned over the past three years that there are several things that will put Opal in a frisky mood. The long shower I take after a fire call. Waking up a bit early when it's not worth it to go back to sleep. One glass of good wine. Any day that ends in Y.

Most of all, playing with fire all afternoon.

"Oh hey," she says, taking a sip of wine. "I emailed your invoices out this morning, and you've already been paid for two of them."

"Great. Thank you."

Opal has taken over some of the finances and administration work for my roofing business, since I've been run off my feet with actual jobs. It's improved my negotiating position with suppliers: they think I'm a much larger company now that I have an assistant.

"Well, since we just got paid, maybe I should take my gorgeous wife out on a date tomorrow night."

The salad-laden fork freezes an inch from her mouth. "I was kind of thinking that this was a date."

We both glance at the kitchen wall calendar at the same time, then burst into laughter. "We met three years ago today!" Opal giggles. "I knew it felt like a special occasion."

"Uh, yeah, that's what I meant…" My eyes drift back and forth shiftily. "I totally knew it was our anniversary, which is why I'm askingnowabout the fancy date tomorrow."

She waves her fork at me. "You didn't say fancy until you saw the calendar."

"I wasthinkingthe word fancy."

"Thinking it doesn't count."

"I didn't even tell you where I wanted to take you yet!" My mind races. Neither of us likes fancy restaurants. We prefer our old favorites. "But now that you're being so snippy about it, we're going to have to go to Betty's Bistro."

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