Page 8 of Ablaze

“So . . .” He clears his throat, opening the microwave and placing a plate of cookies inside it. I get the feeling he’s trying to come up with the best way to phrase his next words. “Rohan says it’s basically been you and him for the past twelve years?”

I play with the strap of my purse on the countertop. “Yeah, our parents died when I was ten.” My eyes collide with Dean’s, but I don’t see the same pity in them I’m used to receiving from others. I huff out a mirthless chuckle. “I suppose I was fortunate to have a brother who was ten years older than me, so thankfully, I didn’t get put into the foster system and end up living with strangers.”

Dean nods. “I’m sorry about what you went through that day, Mala. I can’t imagine . . .” The ding of the microwave has him turning back to pull out the warmed cookies, and he shuffles to the fridge for milk.

I press my thumb to my wrist, rubbing the rough patch of skin there. A patch of skin that’s both a reminder of the past I lived, as well as the past that died that day. It’s a habit I’ve developed–a coping mechanism–to ground me to the here and now when the dark clouds of soot, dust, and human remains threaten to close in on the little bright spot I create for myself every day. The little bright spot I refuse to give up on, no matter how many dark flecks muddle it.

It’s the only spot where the chains of my past don’t exist; the only spot I’m completely free.

Dean strolls across the kitchen, placing a cup of milk in front of me, along with the cookies, before he comes back with his own cup and takes a seat across from me. He clears his throat, eyeing my face, and I realize I’m too late in hiding my frown. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t–”

“No. Don’t apologize.” I shake my head, bringing the cup closer. I exhale, feeling like I need to clear my airways. “I was one of the few lucky ones that day, and that’s what I try to hold on to–that I’m here for a reason. I have to believe I’m here for a reason.”

Dean’s eyes glimmer, reminding me of an ocean under the summer sun. “You are. There’s not a doubt in the world about it.” He raises the plate in my direction, and I pick up one of the chocolate-chunk cookies. I’m just about to take a bite when he blurts, “Hold up.” He takes a cookie off the plate and touches it to the one in my hand. “Cheers to new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” I repeat with a smile.

A moan slips out of Dean’s throat as we bite into our cookies, and my skin tingles under its vibration. I lick my lips, chewing slowly, but the only thing I can focus on is the way his mouth moves around his bite. The sound of another soft moan tightens my stomach, but he’s so lost in the cookie in his hand, he has no idea I’m struggling to breathe.

“Do you want me to leave you alone with your dessert?” I nod at the tiny piece left between his fingers.

He pops the rest of it into his mouth, keeping his eyes on me. “Nope. I’d rather you watch.”

My cheeks heat as I try to figure out how to respond, but instead, I end up just shaking my head. If I don’t remind myself not to take him seriously, the guy could end up screwing with my head.

“So,” he smirks, after taking a long sip of his milk, “I found out yesterday you’re good at setting fires and making terrible dog treats. Any other talents you want to warn me about?”

I raise a brow. “I’m also good at putting cocky firemen in their place.”

Dean chuckles. “I’ll let my crew know. You won’t find anyone like that in this room.”

I giggle. “Clearly. Zero arrogant firemen here.”

Dean stares at me–something I’m finding he has no problem doing–keeping his gaze locked with mine until I’m practically squirming in my seat. “So, what are you planning on doing now that you’re back in Tahoe?”

I take a few sips of my milk and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I got a business degree in Iowa, and to help pay for college tuition, I started a small pet care business–pet sitting, gourmet snacks, and dog walking. I’m hoping to expand it here.”

He leans back in his chair. “Oh yeah? Like, by adding more services?”

I shrug, fiddling with my cup. I haven’t really vocalized my plans to anyone yet, not even to Rohan, so it feels strange to be discussing it with a virtual stranger. “I saw this empty unit at the corner of Bronco and Fourth Street. I think it used to be a bakery–”

“I know the one. It has a nice outdoor lawn area behind it,” Dean chimes in. “There was a donut shop there for some time until the owners moved.”

I run my hands over my bare thighs. Now that I’m talking about it, it all feels more real. “I was thinking about calling up the property manager to find out about renting it.” I shrug. “I thought maybe I’d go all in on a café for both dogs and people.”

Dean’s eyes light up. “That’s a fucking brilliant idea! A dog-friendly café. You’ll even have that great outdoor space for dogs to run around and do their business.”

I smile, feeling my ears heat from the rush of excitement running under my skin. “You think there’s a market for it?”

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen the number of dogs around here?” Dean booms. His excitement is contagious, making me giggle. “Wasn’t there some statistic that said there are more dogs in California than people? Of course, it’s a good idea!”

It feels nice to have someone else validate my idea and be excited right along with me. “Yeah, alright. I mean, I need to see if I can afford the rent, then get any necessary permits. I’ll need to hire someone to help me with the baking since I’m planning to serve all sorts of pastries, and buy one of those fancy industrial coffee machines . . . But yeah, I think it could work.”

Whether Dean is wondering if I have the finances to rent a place like that or not, I can’t tell, but the most fortuitous thing my parents did for both Rohan and me as soon as we were born was set us up with a small trust–one that both of us could access as soon as we turned twenty-two. For me, that was this year.

My parents weren’t extremely wealthy, but they did manage their money well–with my dad being a financial advisor himself. While neither Rohan nor I have huge amounts in our trust funds, we have enough to help cushion our lives.

Dean wrinkles his nose. “Are you planning to have those god-awful hormone cookies on the menu?”

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