Page 2 of Burned By My Mate

For now, I head straight tothe Twisted Oak Market.Inside, the air is cool, the scent of fresh bread and coffee filling the space. I grab a cart and make my way through the aisles, tossing in essentials—bread, eggs, cheese, coffee. My budget is tight, but I allow myself a small indulgence: a pint of vanilla bean ice cream.

At checkout, Mrs. Dorsey is working again. She smiles when she sees me.

“How’s the house treating you, dear?”

I return her smile. “It’s coming along. Still needs a lot of work, but I love it.”

“That’s good to hear. If you ever need anything, just holler. Twisted Oak takes care of its own.”

I nod, warmed by her kindness. “Thank you.”

After paying, I carry my bags back to the car and slide into the driver’s seat, already dreaming of a hot shower and a quiet night in. The drive back is peaceful, the road winding through stretches of dense trees. I hum along to the radio, feeling lighter than I have in a long time.

See? This place is already so good for me,I think with a smile as I take the last turn.

But the moment I turn onto my street, I slam on my brakes, and my heart stops.

My house is onfire.

Flames lick at the roof, smoke billowing into the darkening sky. For a second, I can’t move. Can’t breathe. My home—my fresh start—is going up in flames right in front of me.

I want to cry, to scream. Panic is clawing at me, and I’m not sure what to do.

Then my body jolts into action. I slam the car into park and throw open the door. The heat is instant, pressing against my skin like a smothering blanket. The fire spreads quickly, swallowing everything I own.

A sharp pang of grief hits me, but then another thought shoves its way forward?—

Grandma’s recipe book.

It’s the only thing I have left of her, a battered old notebook filled with handwritten recipes and little notes in the margins. If I lose that… I shake my head.

I can’t.

Ignoring every rational thought, I run toward the house.

I don’t make it far. A strong hand grips my arm, yanking me back. I stumble, gasping, as a deep, furious voice cuts through the chaos.

“What thehelldo you think you’re doing?”

I twist, coming face-to-face with a towering firefighter. He’s wearing heavy gear, his dark brown hair damp with sweat, blue eyes glaring at me.

How did I not notice the fire trucks headed this way? How did I not see him coming?

I guess I was too focused on the fact that I’m literally watching everything I own go up in smoke.

“Let me go!” I struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t budge. “I have to get something!”

“Are youinsane?” His voice is rough, edged with something that sounds like barely-contained rage. “Running into a burning house? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I just—” My throat tightens, and I shake my head. “It’s important.”

He doesn’t soften. If anything, his grip tightens.

“Nothing in there is worth your life.”

Frustration and heartbreak crash over me in equal measure. “You don’t understand!”

“I understand plenty,” he snaps. “You think you’re the first person to try something this stupid?”

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