Page 139 of Like A Moth To A Flame

Even though I opened my mouth to retort, the line went dead, and I sighed again. I glared over at the meat on the counter as I shoved my phone back into my pocket. With a shrug, I picked up the package and tore off the cling wrap, dropping it into the pan with a satisfying plop that sounded wet and maybe a little messy.

Fine. Maybe it wouldn’t be a surprise, but I could still try my best.

And so I got to work, reading my mom’s faded little index card over and over again, adding salt and spices and liquids. I cranked the heat up to medium, just like the recipe said. Before long, the kitchen was full of nostalgic scents and I started to think that maybe, just maybe, I could do this.

Maybe I could have that little bit of my mom with me, even if she was gone. Maybe I could still feel her comfort, and if I had it myself, I could pass her memory along without her even being here.

It smelled amazing, maybe not the same as the way they were when mom was alive, but close. Maybe when I added the Coke?

“Look at you, Moth. My perfect little wifey.”

I jumped when I heard his voice, spinning on the spot, my fist clutching the wooden spoon as if it would save my life.

Hell, it wouldn’t even save my vagina from the intruder. What the hell was I thinking?

Tommy stood in the doorway grinning at me.

“Shit!” I bit out, releasing a whoosh of breath and letting the tension flood out of my muscles. “How the hell do you keep doing that?”

From the doorway, his lips split into a sadistic grin, his brown eyes dancing with glee. He leaned against the kitchen doorway, hisarms crossed across his chest and his shoulders practically bulging out of his brown leather jacket. That very same jacket, once upon a time, had terrified me to no end.

Now it had become my home.

“I have my ways,” he said with a shrug, still watching me. “But the problem is, if I have ways… anyone else determined enough will havetheirways.”

I sighed. He was right.

Maybe it took a stalker to know a stalker. I almost laughed at the thought.

He turned away, his arms dropping to his side as he turned into the foyer.

My brain stopped, backtracking and reminding me of the things he had said. The word he had said.

Wifey.

“W-wait. Wait!”

He turned, one hand on the frame of the door as he turned back to look at me, concern shadowing his eyes. He looked at me expectantly, but all I could feel was the blush rising in my cheeks and the anxiety sitting like a heavy weight on my chest.

Why did he still have this effect on me? After everything we had been through?

“Yes, princess?”

I shivered and forced myself to turn, balancing the spoon across the pot to free my hands. When I turned back to him, there was an expression on his face that I couldn’t quite place.

I tried to look into his eyes, but I couldn’t. Instead, I studied the floorboards and the way they didn’t quite sit flush together the way they should.

“Wh-what… are we?”

My voice sounded foreign, hard to place.

Had that really come from me?

“What do you mean?”

It was a simple question, but it stopped me in my tracks.

“I mean,” I whispered, licking my suddenly dry lips. “Are you my…boyfriend? My future baby daddy? I’m wearing a collar, that means—”

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