Page 9 of Burn for Me

“Is this necessary?” Sharkie grumbles from the passenger seat, her irritation evident. I get them not trusting me, but she’s shown her loyalty, so sending someone to watch us is utterly uncalled for.

“I, uh—come on, please stop blaming me.” Moe stumbles over his words, his eyes focused on the winding road and the beautiful morning scenery. Sharkie keeps her gaze out the window, rubbing her fingers together nervously. I feel my knee bouncing and place my hand on it to steady myself.

“It's humiliating,” Sharkie mutters.

Moe laughs and shakes his head, “Come on, I’m not that bad to be around, am I?”

“Oh, Moe, no! That’s not what I meant…” Sharkie trails off, so I step in.

“Thank you for taking us.”

It’s not his fault; we all know that. Moe catches my gaze in the rearview mirror and smiles, the kind that rarely reaches his eyes.He’s only four years younger than me, cute with red hair and an athletic build, but everyone sees him as a kid.

“You two might be surprised. I have an excellent fashion sense.”

Sharkie and I laugh, and as Moe eases into a parking space, his gaze remains on mine.

“Is that a challenge?” He purrs, his voice dropping to a rasp, and his boldness takes me aback. I roll my eyes as Sharkie's laugh grows, and we step out of the car into the humid, cloudy weather. Moe bumps my shoulder, reminding me of our height difference, though he’s still shorter than Sam. Sharkie links her arm with mine, making me flinch slightly.

“I thought I told you I don't bite…” she says, biting her lip with a stifled laugh, reminding me of our first meeting when she looked like a caged animal. I was jealous then, as she was treated like a guest while I had to earn my spot.

“Any more, that is.” she finishes with a shrug.

“That's good information to have,” I say quietly. Despite my mind begging for distance, I let her guide us into the mall, seizing this rare moment ofnormalsocial interaction. We wander aimlessly until we stumble into a boutique filled with elegant dresses and suits. The scent hits me first—clean with a hint of orange blossom, as if the clothes were hand-stitched rather than factory-made.

“Martinez's clothing,” Sharkie hums nostalgically. “My mother's closet was filled with this stuff.”

My shoulders tense up; it’s been so long since I’ve seen this stuff that I hardly recognize the designer. Finally, I relax, realizing someone shares a similar background.

“Mine too.” I force my words out while sliding my fingers through the silk racks; it’s the closest I’ve come to sharing my past.

“Just say you two were rich. It'd be more humble. Have you seen these price tags?” Moe holds a stunning blue dress, and I laugh at his angle.

“Blue is a good color on you,” I purr, catching Sharkie’s attention and prompting her cackle. Moe fumbles over the dress but quickly puts it back.

I wander through the aisles, collecting outfit after outfit on my arm, getting lost in the familiar motions until Sharkies nearly tackles me, ripping the clothes from my hands.

“Ifound it!” Moe shouts while throwing a dress over my face, obstructing my view. He shoves at my shoulders, and Sharkie growls as I stumble.

As I collide with a wall, curtain links echo the space, prompting me to pull at the fabric until I can see properly. I'm alone, trapped in a small space.

“Hurry up! We want to see how it looks,” Sharkie calls. I struggle to steady my breathing, panic rising as sweat accumulates on my palms. I’m hot—not as hot asthatday- but uncomfortably warm.

“Damn it, I need to find her a mask,” Moe whispers.

Sharkie responds with a barely audible mutter, “Sam said he'd handle that.”

I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the comfort that Sam’s name brings. He isn’t here, but neither are the daunting sparks of my nightmares. I strip off my clothes and slip into the dress, feeling it snugly wrap around my hips and chest.

“Cordelia,” I call out, the name unfamiliar but necessary. I need help, and if I’m feeling vulnerable, I might as well make her feel it, too.

“Are you decent?” she asks, her fingers clutching the curtain, hesitating. I pull it open, holding the dress tightly against my chest.

“I can’t zip it,” I admit, frustration creeping in. Instead of jumping to help, Moe and Sharkie stay still, surprise and amusement written on their faces—Sharkie’s mouth hanging open and Moe rubbing the back of his neck with a grin.

“That's the one.” He murmurs.

“I’ll uh… heh–” he chuckles, looking away, his smile growing. “I’ll let Sam know the color scheme.”

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