Page 50 of Fire and Icing

Mom would not be pleased if she knew I was pulling off a charade with a woman instead of seriously pursuing a relationship. Well, what Mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

I pivot and grab my sweats from the back of the desk chair, pull them on and walk upstairs to get a cup of coffee. I’ve got a little while before my shift starts.

I pop the door open and a woman screams. And screams.

It takes a minute for my brain to register anything but the piercing pitch of her shrieking.

“Emberleigh?”

She pauses, hand on her heart, her eyes squinted. “Dustin? What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

It is her grandmother’s home, but she’s in pajamas. Cute ones. Pink with little berries all over them. Her hair’s rumpled as if she just woke up …

Wait a minute …

A girl who Mrs. Holt has known for years.

Fell on hard times.

Emberleigh is my housemate?

"You live here?" we exclaim in unison.

“Oh my gosh!” Emberleigh exclaims through a peal of laughter. “Gran! I’m going to kill you!”

“No need for anything drastic,” I say, holding my hands up in a show of innocence. “She didn’t tell you?”

“She told you?” There go the arms, folding across the chest.

“She didn’t say who you were, but she told me we have a housemate. A woman who fell on hard times.”

“Hard times.” She shakes her head. “A minor kitchen fire is not exactly hard times.”

I walk the rest of the way into the kitchen. I’m on a schedule. I have to keep my morning moving.

Emberleigh lifts her cup of coffee off the counter and steps out of the way.

I feel her eyes on my back as I fill the pot with water and pour it into the tank on the coffee maker.

I grab a mug down. She watches me.

I pad over to the fridge to get some milk. She tracks my movement.

The soft sounds of her sipping her coffee fill the room. Being so close together at such a normally private part of the day should be awkward—maybe it is, but only a little. There’s this comfort growing between us and a tug I can’t quite explain. I’m glad she’s here. What does that mean? It’s nothing I’m going to try to decipher before my first cup of coffee.

The stairs that lead to the second story creak. A moment later, Mrs. Holt is in the kitchen in her pajamas, slippers and a quilted robe.

She glances between the two of us. Before either of us can say anything, Mrs. Holt says, “I told each of you I had another tenant in the house, did I not?”

“You did,” I say.

“Not exactly,” Emberleigh says, giving her grandmother a serious side-eye.

“I told you the basement had been put up for rent,” Mrs. Holt defends.

“That’s not the same as telling me the rookie moved in!” Emberleigh’s faint smile betrays her tone of annoyance.

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