Page 67 of Frosting and Flames

Rachel:Can we talk about the other day?

I stare at Rachel’s text, my heart beating wildly in my chest. What are the chances she texts me the same day Jae grills me at the grocery store? Well, from what I know of Jae… pretty high. She’s like a bulldog with a chewbone.

But the thing is, I don’t want Rachel coerced into talking to me. I want her to on her own. She clearly thought that kiss was a mistake.

Even if it was insanely hot.

I can’t tell her no, though. Can’t bury my head in the sand wishing things will go back to the way they were. I don’t want them to. I want her to notice me as someone interested in her. Cat’s out of the bag after that kiss.

But where does that leaves us exactly?

Me:Sure. Now? Or in person?

Rachel:How about tonight at my place? I could make us dinner. If you don’t have plans.

My thumbs twitch over the phone screen’s keyboard. She goes from saying she can’t be with anyone to inviting me over for dinner? Is this a date? Or just as friends? It has to be the latter, but I’m afraid to clarify.

Me:I think we’ve already established I have no social life. I’d love to come over.

I hope it comes off as self-deprecating, but I can’t trust my instincts when it comes to her anymore.

She responds with a time and I set my phone down, cautiously optimistic, but I also have the sense I’m walking into a trap. It seems too good to be true.

When did I get so suspicious?

At six, I knock on Rachel’s front door, studiously avoiding the doorbell. There’s no way I’m participating in any pranks again.

When she answers the door, she smiles, but there’s something hesitant about it. I don’t know what to do to put her at ease, though. I’m apprehensive about doing anything for fear it’s the wrong thing.

I’m back to square one, sure she hates me after what I did to her family’s bakery. Nervous and excited to see her a month ago as the bakery’s oven malfunctioned, even as my stomach roiled, half-afraid she’d tell me to get the hell out. Offering her help and her kindly rejecting it.

Rejecting me.

She ushers me in, and when the door is safely closed behind us, she says, “I hope you like lasagna. You know, since you said you like Italian food.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” I do everything I can to stuff those thoughts away, and register the warm, inviting aroma of garlic, onions, and herbs coming from the kitchen. I grab onto the first distraction I can, focusing on the living room. “You got a new couch.” It’s been, what? Two days since I was last here? In addition to the new couch, she’s rearranged the whole area.

She takes a deep breath. “I did.”

“It’s nice.”

Nodding, she says, “I had some memories tied to the old one I wanted to get rid of.”

Is she referring to our kiss? That’s… a blow to the ego.

She must see something on my face because she quickly continues, “Not me and you.” Her cheeks pinken. “If that’s what you were thinking.”

I don’t know what to say, even if some measure of relief is restored.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asks, bustling over to the kitchen. “I’ve got wine and beer.”

Even as I follow her and ask for a beer, my mind is turning over what she said. A bad memory on that couch. Is that why she stopped us?

“Do you want to talk about it? The bad memories?”

She fiddles with the beer she’s holding before handing it to me. “When Kyle told me…” She trails off, as if searching for the right words. “What he had done, he was sitting on that couch. And then when you and I…” She pauses again and clears her throat, looking anywhere but at me. “I realized we were in the same spot and I freaked out.”

Ah, shit. “I didn’t know—”

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