Page 90 of Burning for Alexander
“Verbal warning,” Judd said, after the older lady and her friends walked away. “And when you put up the next set of holiday decorations, remember the Four F’s.”
I glanced at him in pleasant surprise. “Oh, believe me, Chief. I can remember some effs right fucking now.”
His eyes never wavered from mine. “Flame, fixtures, flow, andfood zones. Use only flame-retardant or -resistant decorations, plug fixtures into rated outlets and avoid daisy chaining, keep exits and sprinklers clear, and keep decor away from cooking grease or grill flames.”
“Think you forgot an eff-word, Kincaid,” I growled.
He tapped his chin, then snapped his fingers. “Yes. You’re correct.Fuse. Use lights with built-in fuses. Thank you. You’re ever so helpful when it comes to fire safety, Marian.”
By the time I finished holding back a shout of frustration, he was gone.
“That man is a stickler for fire safety,” one of the older ladies at Mrs. Carilla’s table said with a bright smile. “Isn’t that nice having someone like him here in Legacy? He’s such a dear.”
I inhaled deeply and held the breath in my lungs for as long as possible before letting it out slowly and silently.
“Such a dear,” I exclaimed. “Just a dear, dear,dearman. Yes he is.”
Later that evening, I concocted an email in response to a “Fire Safety For the Holidays!” leaflet he’d left on the bar.
To: His Excellency, the Earl of Overreach
I wanted to thank you for your most recent seasonally appropriate reminder that twinkle lights, wreaths, and anything made of pine needles apparently qualify as “potential death traps.” Your festive leaflet really puts the “bah” in “humbug.”
While my staff has dutifully removed the three strands of “metrically inadequate” turkey lights (RIP, gobbling ambiance), I feel confident that Timber can safely handle holiday décor without turning into a yuletide bonfire. After all, our extinguishers, sprinklers, and staff training remain—as you so often remind me—at acceptable levels.
That said, I am throwing myself on His Excellency’s mercy to request official approval for our upcoming holiday dessert feature: Cherries Jubilee. Yes, it involves a small table-side flambé. Yes, it involves fire. And yes, before you choke on your Nomex, I will ensure:
Only trained staff handle the torch.
A fire extinguisher is within arm’s reach.
Patrons are warned that their Instagram stories may spontaneously combust with delight.
If it eases your professional conscience, you are welcome to come by for a live demonstration. I’ll even set aside a seat at the chef’s table so you can glower from an optimal angle.
Most neutral of holiday wishes,
Alexander Marian
Owner, Timber
As soon as I shot it off, I rubbed my face with both hands and tried to mentally saddle up for tomorrow. Marian Thanksgiving.
Marian Thanksgiving was at my grandparents’ lodge. Thankfully, not everyone was coming to Legacy for it since we were having a huge family Christmas here in just a few weeks. But Thanksgiving still included my dads, my uncles Jude and Derek, and all of the Legacy resident cousins. There were most likely a few other Marians or Marian-adjacent people coming as well.
It was going to suck.
My parents’ generation tended to invite stragglers to any family event, which meant you never knew who would be there. While that was great because it meant Tavo was obviously welcome, it also meant Papa and/or Ella sometimes took the opportunity to invite a friend who just so happened to be gay or bi and just so happened to be single andoh-by-the-wayalso happened to have something in common with me.
I pulled out my phone and sent a pre-excuse prep text to the small family chain of just Papa, Dad, Ella, Mattie, and me.
I’m not feeling well. Think I’m coming down with something.
Papa
Ooh! I’m really good at diagnosing from afar. Hang on… Wait for it… I think… you’re coming down with an excuse to skip family Thanksgiving.
Dad
