Faster We Burn (Fall and Rise #2)(19)
Author: Chelsea M. Cameron

“I wish I had your confidence.”

“Comes from being the older sister. So, are you going to stay or go?”

I shook my head. “I have to go. I can’t stay here with Mom.”

“She’ll come around.”

Not likely. “I wish I had your confidence about that too.”

***

It was nearly ten when I pulled up in front of Stryker’s apartment. He wasn’t alone. There was another car there, but I didn’t know whose it was.

I tried calling him one more time before I knocked, but he didn’t answer, so I knocked and waited.

No answer.

The lights were on upstairs, so he must be home. I stepped back and saw someone peek through the curtains, but they were gone before I could see who it was.

I banged on the door again and footsteps pounded down the stairs.

“Katie,” Stryker said as he yanked the door open. No, he didn’t just say it. He breathed it. In those two syllables I heard hope and shock and even a little anger.

“Who is it?” A female voice said from his open door at the top of the stairs. I heard her start walking and when she came into view I had to swallow hard.

Ric.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were home with your happy little family,” she said, coming to stand behind Stryker and putting her hand on his shoulder. Marking what she thought was her territory. It only took me a second to assess the situation and know that Stryker had done this on purpose. Not that I was that cocky, but I knew he thought this would piss me off, which was the exact reason I wasn’t. Nice try, Stryker Grant, but I don’t play that game.

Stryker smoothed his expression and spoke in the hard voice he’d used when he stormed out of my house earlier. His douchebag voice.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

“Yeah, and I thought I told you it wasn’t just the sex, so we’re even.”

Ric’s eyes narrowed when I mentioned the sex. They both smelled heavily of alcohol, but they were both fully-clothed. Well, Stryker was. Ric looked like she’d just come from clubbing.

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this anymore, Katie.” If he clenched his jaw any tighter, he was going to damage some of his teeth.

“I didn’t come here for that. I came to say I’m sorry. I know you hate apologies, so I hope you like grand gestures instead.” Without another word, I went to my car and grabbed two grocery bags. My trunk was full, so it was going to take a few trips to bring everything in.

In my head this had gone different, mostly because I expected him to be home alone. I’d written out this whole script on my way up, and he’d decided not to follow it.

“I’m making you dinner,” I said when I came back holding the bags. “So let me in because I need to preheat the oven if we’re going to eat before the sun comes up.”

Stryker stared at me as if he couldn’t figure me out.

“You’re not pissed that Ric is here and I’m drunk and we might have messed around?” Ric smirked at me from over his shoulder.

“Not really. You gonna let me in or not?”

He moved aside and I pushed past him and Ric and marched up the stairs. I heard her saying something to him, but I couldn’t make it out. I set the bags down on the kitchen floor and started unpacking them.

Finding a turkey on Thanksgiving was something I deserved a medal for. I had to go to three grocery stores and finally found a fresh one in an organic market. It was tiny, but it would do for my purposes, and it didn’t need to be thawed.

I plunked it on the counter and pulled out a bag of potatoes.

“You’re cooking me an apology turkey?” Stryker said, waiting in the doorway, as if he was nervous to come in his own apartment.

I slammed down a can of cranberry sauce. “Yup.”

“This is so weird,” Ric muttered.

“You can stay if you want,” I said, giving her a dripping sweet smile. “The more the merrier.”

“Yeah, I’ll pass,” Ric said, edging down the stairs. “You, um, have a good time.”

“Are you sure?” I said, pulling out an acorn squash. “Well, see you at Band.” I smiled as wide as I could and slammed the squash down, making her jump. She gave Stryker a look and scurried away.

“Aw, shame she couldn’t stay,” I said, pulling out some rolls. “I wasn’t sure if you liked this kind or this kind.” I pulled out another bag. “So I got both.”

“Katie, what are you doing?” He finally came all the way inside.

“I’m making up for the shitty reception you got at my house. You wanted a perfect Thanksgiving, so I’m giving you a perfect f**king Thanksgiving. Now, could you be a gentleman and go get the rest of the bags from the car? Please and thank you.”

Chapter Twelve

Stryker

I stumbled out to her car and found the trunk absolutely bursting with anything and everything you could make a Thanksgiving with. I grabbed some more of the bags and hauled them back up the stairs. It took a while because my balance wasn’t at its finest.

When I opened the door and saw her, I was almost relieved. I thought she’d see me with Ric and that would be it. She’d yell and scream at me, call me an a**hole and never want to speak to me again.

But, no. Katherine Ann Hallman had found a way to surprise me again.

It took me two more trips to get everything upstairs. Katie set it all out on my counter, and then when she ran out of room, she lined the boxes and cans up on the coffee table.

It was enough food to feed at least twelve people, but she also had other things. Placemats shaped like leaves and red, orange and yellow plates and even a paper fold-out turkey.

She didn’t say a word as she rooted around in my drawers and found the apron I’d put on when I’d sent her that funny picture.

“Give me a hand?” She turned her back and held out the strings so I could tie them behind her back.

I tied a bow and moved away from her as quick as I could, resisting the urge to wrap my hands around her waist and pull her body toward me.

She stepped around me and went to my television, going for the instant movies. She did some searching and selected one that turned out to be Charlie Brown.

“Sit. Watch. Enjoy,” she commanded, pointing to the couch. I did as I was told and she pulled out a very old and stained cookbook, flipping the pages until she found the right one. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye while I watched the Peanuts gang’s antics.

I knew there was no way she could singlehandedly make all that food, but I kept my mouth shut. To be honest, I was a little terrified of her at the moment.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, picking up one of the bags and rooting through it. “Here. Make some paper turkeys.” She threw a box of markers, some scissors, glue and construction paper at me. The fact that she was pretending not to be pissed at me told me that she was, she was just trying to hide it.

“What?” I said, looking at the supplies.

“Haven’t you ever made a paper turkey?”

I shook my head.

“Not in school or anything?”

“Nope.”

She glanced at the mountain of yet-to-be-peeled potatoes and reluctantly sat down next to me.

“Okay, so you trace your hand like this.” She traced her hand on an orange piece of construction paper. “Then you cut it out and do a few more and then you make a body and a head with the brown and glue it together. Presto, hand turkey.”

She handed me the marker and I saw that the design I’d drawn on her hand this afternoon was still there. I’d expected her to wash it off.

“Okay, I need to get back to work. I expect at least two decent hand turkeys by the time I come and check on you again.”

When she tried to get up, I took her arm to stop her.

“Why are you doing this for me? You don’t care that I was getting drunk with Ric?”

She didn’t pull away. “Did you have sex with her?”

“No, but I was going to.”

She met my eyes without fear.

“Why? Because if it was to push me away, you failed. I’m still here.”

“I’m still trying to figure that out.” She put both hands on my shoulders and leaned in as if to kiss me.

“I’ve told you. It’s not just the sex.” Using my shoulders as leverage, she pushed herself to her feet. “Now don’t disturb me. I’m cooking, and the first rule of cooking with Katie is that you keep your ass out of the kitchen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, turning my focus back to the hand turkeys.

I got a little artistic with my hand turkey, putting texture on the feathers and giving the turkeys interesting facial expressions. Katie banged around the kitchen, peeling things and boiling water and rubbing butter on the turkey and raiding my spice cabinet. I couldn’t help but notice that she put everything back where it should be when she was done.

If she didn’t know what she was doing, she was really putting on a good show. The Peanuts show ended and Katie came and chose another show, Addams Family Values.

“It qualifies as a Thanksgiving movie,” she said before I could even comment.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“How are those turkeys coming?” I held one up that was nearly dry.

“Very nice.” I guess that was as good as it was going to get. I went back to making turkeys and she went back to cooking.

I didn’t glance back until she swore loudly.

“What happened?” I didn’t move from the couch, worried she’d throw something at me.

“Cut myself. I’m fine.” She ran it under the water. “Do you have any Band-Aids?”

“Yeah, sure. Can I move from the couch to get them?” She glared at me. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I dashed to the bathroom and came back with a Band-Aid and some ointment.

“Here,” I said, coming up behind her while she was still at the sink. She jumped a little, but I’d been counting on that.

“Rule number two about cooking with Katie is that you don’t sneak up behind her like a creeper.” She snatched the Band-Aid and the tube of ointment from me and slid sideways, so I wasn’t behind her.

“Get back to your turkeys.”

I did as I was told, but not before brushing my fingers along her back where the apron was tied.

“Careful, sweetheart. Don’t want you chopping off any of those fingers.” She chucked an empty can at me, but missed.

***

Four hours later, my eyes were heavy, but my apartment had never smelled so delicious. There was so much food she had to be creative with containers to put it in. The mashed potatoes were in a metal ice bucket, the squash was in a mixing bowl and she’d put the cranberry sauce into a few of my shot glasses.

As I taped the paper turkeys all around, she threw a white lace-edge tablecloth on my coffee table and set it with the plates and new silverware and cloth napkins before placing the paper stand-up turkey in the middle.

I looked at the plates and bowls mounded with food.

“I am never going to eat all this,” I said.