Page 32 of Burn for You

I rifle through the box closest to the door, knowing my crochet blanket sits in there. I see a hint of orange at the bottom of the box, and I grab onto it, yanking the blanket out.

The faint smell of smoke drifts through the air as I pull it out and I nearly gag at the scent as the memories flash through my mind like some sick highlight reel of one of the scariest nights of my life.

I shake the blanket out willing the smell to float away, but it doesn’t, it only intensifies.

I shuffle through another box, which contains stuff from my bedroom at the cottage, and pull out another blanket. I give it a wary sniff and not a hint of smoke lingers on the fabric, so I put it under my arm and carry the crochet blanket in my other hand as I go back out to the living room.

I throw my blanket from my room on the couch and take the crochet one with me as I open the big sliding door to Rafael’s backyard.

It’s a big yard. But again, there’s nothing out here except a washing line. I walk over to it and grab a few pegs from the basket, hanging the blanket up. Hopefully it airs out in the breeze out here.

A ring at the doorbell sounds.That was quick.

I walk back through the house to the front door, swinging it open to see the delivery guy walking back to his car and a pizza box at my feet.

“Thank you!” I yell, he just gives me a wave over his shoulder.

A big shoulder.

A hot shoulder.

I crouch down picking up the pizza and bring it inside, shutting the door behind me.

I finally flop back down on the couch, pulling my blanket upover my legs, and flip open the pizza box. The greasy smell fills the room, and it’s exactly what I was craving.

I pick up a piece and shove it in my mouth, finally feeding myself. I reach for the remote on the coffee table and flick through Netflix, but I can’t find anything I want to watch.

“Ughhhh,” I groan. I struggle endlessly to feel at home here. It just doesn’t work. I just sit here eating my pizza staring at the empty fire in front of me, until Pizza guy's shoulders flicker through my mind again, and I get an idea.

I pull my phone out and open Tinder. It’s like a game to me. For some reason, simply choosing whether to swipe left or right entertains me to no end.

Oooh, Jacob?

Nope. J names are a red flag by themselves.

He’s only got photos of him in a group. I don’t know why people do that? It’s like a lucky dip. You don’t know which one you’re gonna get.

How about Rocco?

Twenty-seven, a job in finance. I raise my eyebrows. He could be cute…

“Not him.”

I jump at Rafael’s voice behind me. “Jesus!“ I curse. “Don’t you knock?”

“At my own house? No, I don’t knock.”

Oh, yeah.

His eyes flick to the pizza left ignored on the table and he looks at it like it personally offended him.

“Why not him?” I ask. I don’t know why, but the words just flew out of my mouth. Why does Rafael think he can judge?

“His name is Rocco, for a start. It sounds like a dog's name.”

I scoff, but now that he’s said it all I can see is a little staffie called Rocco.

I swipe left.

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