Page 23 of Burn for You

“Please, Rafael? You’d be such a big help. I’m slammed here, and Rosemary Cottage is on the way to your place. You don’t even have to say hi. You could just leave it at the doorstep and ring the bell.”

“I’m not going to play ding dong ditch just cause I don’t want to see her.” I’m not that much of an asshole. Am I?

“Hey Marina?” One of the bartenders calls her over.

“Please, Rafael. I’ll give you free beers for a week.” I raise my eyebrows at her. “Okay, a bottle of whiskey.”

On any other day, or if anyone else asked me, I’d say no. But with the way Marina is looking at me, her eyes pleading at me to help her, I don't know how to. “Fine.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She kisses me on the cheek before running back to the bar.

“You’re such a sucker,” Caio laughs.

“Saves you buying a bottle for our next boys' night,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

“I can’t say it really breaks the bank, but thanks,” he teases.

“Screw you then,” I laugh. “I’ll keep this bottle at home.”

“Fine by me.”

Marina rushes over to us with two brown paper bags. One that’s carrying my delivery for the patient, and one in the shape of a bottle. I pull the bottle out to find that it’s a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Macallan. My mouth salivates just looking at it.

“Where the fuck was she hiding that?” Leo asks.

“We’re getting ripped off,” Caio’s eyes search for Marina, but she’s conveniently disappeared.

This is so worth playing Uber Eats for one night.

“I take it back; you can bring that to boys' night. Your place? Now?”

“Vaffanculo.You lost your chance. Tonight looks like me and Macallan here, on my couch until I fall asleep.”

Caio shakes his head. “Don’t forget your delivery.” He nods to the other bag beside me.

I scrunch up the top of the bag, making sure it stays warm. I don’t like the girl, but delivering a cold takeaway dinner is just wrong.

I swing my legs out the end of the booth and stand up, grabbing the bag before I go.

“Ciao, have a good night.” I salute them before I walk out the door. I can’t wait to get home, get my ass on that couch and pour myself a glass of whiskey.

I just need to drop this dinner off first.

It’s gettingdark as I drive towards Rosemary Cottage. The sun is setting earlier as we near the end of summer, but it’s still plenty warm enough. The gray clouds against the dark sky almost look like smoke floating on the cool breeze.

My bottle of Macallan sits beside me in the passenger seat of my truck. I strapped it in, just in case.

I can’t wait to get rid of this food and get home. My truck stinks of shitty bar food, Marina really needs to find a better cook. She rotates through bar staff pretty regularly as temps come in and out while they travel, but she’s had the same kitchen crew since she opened the place. The chef is half average, but she’ll never replace him.

I turn another windy corner. The area that Rosemary Cottage is in is beautiful, I can’t deny that. All of the places here are quaint and cozy looking, like something out of a fairytale. It’s charming really, the complete opposite of my ultra-modern renovated place. A part of me aches for the feeling that a little place like this makes you feel. At home.

I round the corner to Rosemary Cottage and immediately slam on the brakes. “Fuck!”

Amber flames blaze in front of me.

Those weren’t clouds. It was smoke.

Rosemary Cottage is on fire.

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