Page 27 of Ablaze

Of course I’d read the reports of the fire she was in. There’s not a firefighter in the state who hasn’t heard of it. Not only was it one of the worst fires in the city’s history–killing over thirty people and severely injuring several dozen–but it weighed on Rohan day and night. He never wanted to talk much about it, but for years after, he hated himself for not being there with them that day. He kept wondering if things would have been different if he were there. That perhaps he could have saved them somehow. That perhaps he could have prevented his sister from getting hurt.

That’s when I’d found out about Mala’s scars. I knew she had them, but I put two and two together when I realized that in the time I’d known her–no matter the weather outside–she’d keep everything below her collarbone hidden. Well, everything besides her fucking gazelle-like legs. It was as if she was trying to compensate by showing those off.

All. The. Fucking. Time.

She might be short, but I swear the girl’s legs go on for days.

“Whatever it’s like,” Grams states, bringing my focus back to our conversation, “it’s between you and Mala. All I know is what you’ve told me–that she makes you laugh when all you want to do is just smile. That she doesn’t just listen to what you say, but she hears what you haven’t. And that, my charming grandson, is more precious than any gem you’ll ever find. That is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. So, whatever this is–a friendship or a chance for something more–don’t let your fears get in the way of your happiness.”

I’m trying to come up with a response when Mala’s car pulls into the parking lot. “Grams, can I chat with you a little later? Mala just got here.”

“Absolutely! But at least let me say hi to the girl. I haven’t seen her in months.”

Mala makes her way up the steps, her keys jingling at her side. “Hi! Have you been waiting long?”

I shake my head, a smile finding my face at the sight of her. “Nope. Just chatting with this Chatty Cathy over here.” I tilt my phone so Mala can see Grams. They both immediately launch into high-pitched greetings.

Mala grabs the phone from my hand, dismissing me in lieu of my grandma. “Did you get a haircut, Grams?”

“Oh! That’s what was different about her!” I exclaim in the background. “I knew there was something.”

“Just a trim, dear. I don’t have the beautiful locks you do, so a simple little trim does the trick for me.” Grams is all smiles as she poofs the hair on one side of her head. “So I hear you’re doing a bake-off with my grandson.”

Mala’s silky black strands catch the breeze. Her lips only have a sheen of gloss, but I find it hard to avert my gaze from them. “I am. I hope he’s ready to have his ass kicked.”

I raise my eyebrows, giving her my we’ll-see-about-that look.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll give him a run for his money, but I’ll warn you, Mala,” Grams says cheerily, “Dean is no novice. He and I have been baking together since he was a little boy, so he knows his way around an oven.”

“It’s how I get all the ladies.” I waggle my brows at Mala. “My baking skills combined with my God-given good looks. They can’t resist me.”

“Clearly,” Mala snorts and waves her hand. “Just look at them buzzing all around you as we speak.”

“Well, you kids have fun. Send me pictures of the cakes and tell me which one was the crowd-pleaser.” Grams smiles back at us from the screen before we say our byes and hang up.

As soon as we get inside the bakery, I follow Mala through the double doors to the back. “We never made a wager,” I say, trying to keep my eyes off the way her hips swing in front of me. Even so, my eyes find themselves trailing up the back of her legs and sticking to the curve of her ass. “I should get something for when I kick your ass.”

We both wash and dry our hands in the sink before she walks over to where all the dry ingredients sit inside large glass jars. She brings one closer to her before looking over her shoulder at me. “Spotty, the only ass that’s going to be kicked–the only ass that will have welts from my boots–is yours.”

I pull my hair up with a tie to keep it off my face before walking over to where she’s standing to get the necessary amount of flour for my cake. “You don’t own any boots.”

Mala rolls her eyes. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot that figures of speech are above your IQ level.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get sassy, are you? You just can’t handle the fact that I might win, so you’re being mean and deflecting with sarcasm.”

“Ah, deflecting!” she volleys back. “Throwing out some big words today, are we?”

I smirk and notice her eyes snag on my lips. “I just had a similar conversation with Grams. You should know by now, everything about me is big. Big words, big heart, big di–”

“I’m not even sure how I should respond to knowing that you talked about your nether region with your grandma, because that is just weird as hell,” she cuts me off. “But I’m going to stop you right there, Fido. Because the only thing big about you is the size of your hea–”

But before she can finish her sentence, I dump a cup of flour over her head, covering her hair, face, and shoulders with white powder.

Mala stiffens before a gasp comes out of her mouth, revealing the pink of her lips underneath a dusting of white. She’s so shocked, she doesn’t even move for a few seconds, but I get the feeling I should run.

Her outraged eyes have me chuckling before she puts her hand inside the glass jar. “Oh, you little piece of shi–”

Coming behind her, I lift her off her feet before she can get much flour inside her little fist. Still, she manages to get some in my hair and on my forehead while she squeals. I turn her right as my fingers travel down to her stomach, finding that ticklish spot on her side, and Mala squeals.

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