Page 106 of Overtime Goal
“Oh God!” I yelled, sprinting back into the kitchen. The food looked fine, thank Christ, but the smell hit me: smoke. Shit, the asparagus.
I yanked the oven door open and jumped back like it had growled at me. The goddamn thing was on fire. Actual flames.
Shit goddammit fuck, what the hell do I do?
I grabbed the big measuring cup off the counter, filled it, and hurled the water into the oven. Boom. Flames exploded like Mount Vesuvius, shooting out and catching the kitchen towels on the counter. Perfect. Just perfect.
Shit! Shit shit shit! I had one job. Cook a halfway decent meal, light some candles, get Logan on the deck, and deliver the big romantic speech I’d practiced a thousand times. Should have been easy. Except apparently, I can’t be left alone in a kitchen. One second, I have a beautiful meal ready, and the next, whoosh! Fire.
Need to call 911. Definitely. But where the hell is my phone?
I spun in circles like an idiot until Logan burst in like he was on a breakaway. One look, and he had the whole situation clocked. He headed for the sink.
“No, I already put water on it.” I shrieked, sounding like some damsel from a black-and-white disaster flick.
He ignored me, yanked open the cabinet, and pulled out the fire extinguisher.Oh, right. That thing.How the fuck had I forgotten we owned one?
Before I could blink, he unleashed the magic foam, and the flames sputtered out. Relief soared through me, and I almost cheered. Sure, we’d lost the asparagus, but the rest of dinner was safe.I can salvage this.
Then I looked at the counter, and my stomach dropped through the floor. Extinguisher dust was everywhere. Roast, potatoes, salad. Hell, even the dinner rolls were fucked.
Grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week, Logan deadpanned, “So, takeout?”
Like he’d pushed a button, tears streamed down my face. “It’s ruined,” I choked out.
Logan had started fanning smoke toward the open back door, but he ran over and wrapped me in a hug. “Everything’s okay,” he said. “The fire’s out.”
“B-but… dinner. Gone.”
“It’s fine, babe. Try not to stress.”
Easy for him to say. How could he be Mr. Zen when I was sweating through my shirt and wondering if engagement rings were refundable?
He turned me toward the door. “Go outside and get some fresh air.”
So I went, trying to breathe like a normal human while he opened windows, dragged out a fan, and generally acted like he was starring in a video called “How to Handle Kitchen Fires Without Losing Your Shit.” Meanwhile, I was wondering how the hell I could propose after ruining dinner.
He finally came outside. “Feeling better?”
“A little.” Total lie.
“Let’s order something. You’ll feel better once we eat.”
Takeout, really?I refused to go down like that. “Nope. I’ve got this covered.” I marched inside to the pantry and hauled out bread, peanut butter, and jelly. Probably worried I’d lost my mind, Logan had followed me inside, so I turned to him and held up the supplies like I was unveiling the crown jewels. “Gourmet à la Riley.”
He laughed, and when I noticed how his eyes crinkled, a little of my anxiety let go. If I could make him laugh, maybe I could save the evening.
A few minutes later, we were outside with PB&Js and glasses of Barolo. It was a cool evening, and the stars were out. The lingering smell of smoke was fading. Setting the kitchen on fire hadn’t been my proudest moment, but Logan was leaning back in his chair, smiling at me as though I’d given him something better than roast beef.
“Delicious sandwich,” he said. “They’re never this good when I make them.”
It was bullshit, but I loved him for saying it. He had jelly on his thumb, and I almost leaned over to lick it off, but then I froze.
Focus, Riley. He still loves you. Proposal first, kisses later.
Adrenaline shot through me, and even though rapid-fire heartbeats made it hard to breathe, I cleared my throat. Of course, I couldn’t remember a word of the speech I’d memorized.Why the fuck didn’t I print it instead of trusting my goldfish brain?
I licked my lips, and my damn tongue was shaking. “So, um. This wasn’t the plan.”Smooth. Real smooth.“I had a speech. It was going to be epic. It had love, forever, and even some poetry. Then I torched the asparagus, set the kitchen on fire, and now we’re eating peanut butter like middle schoolers. And I’ve forgotten every damn word of my speech.”
