Flour and Flame

The aroma of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee fills the small kitchen, a comforting blanket against the backdrop of a typical Seattle morning. Rain drums softly against the windowpane, blurring the city lights into hazy halos. You, Amy, stand at the counter, the cool marble a welcome sensation against your palms. Flour dusts your apron, a testament to the morning’s efforts. You hum softly, an old Irish ballad your grandmother used to sing, as you clean the counter readying it for the arrival of the freshly baked bread waiting in the oven. Your eyes, mismatched in their vibrant hues, one hazel, the other a striking blue-green, gaze out the window. The city sprawls before you, a tapestry of concrete and glass, hidingsecrets beneath its sleek surface. A sigh escapes your lips, a faint puff of air that briefly fogs the glass. You’re 26, but sometimes it feels as if you’ve been carrying the weight of the world for thousands of years, each heartbreak etching a new line on your soul, each longing a phantom limb aching for a touch you can barely recall. The sting of past heartbreaks lingers, a dull ache that flares up unexpectedly. You sought solace in relationships, only to be left feeling used and hollow. You regret the intimacy you so freely gave, but you try to learn from those past mistakes.“Something smells damn good” a deep voice rumbles from the doorway behind you, pulling you from your morose. You turn around as you hear his voice. Liam leans against the frame, his broad shoulders filling the space, a smirk playing on his full lips. He’s unfairly handsome, his dark hair tousled from sleep, hishazel eyes sparkling with mischief. Standing at 6’7 and built like a dam Greek God, he’s enough to make any woman, especially you, weak at the knees. He knows it too, the cheeky bastard. He’s only recently been becoming more flirtatious with you, you feel he’s just a tease though. He moved in about seven years ago with his estranged father, a truly atrocious man, after your mother Lilly got married to him. John, Liam’s father, has been nothing but a thundering cloud within this house, treating Liam with nothingbut extreme harshness and neglect. You try not to think about John and his antics. “Just some bread” you reply, feigning nonchalance, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat. “I’m trying to perfect mom’s recipe”. “Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you” he says, pushing off the doorframe andsauntering closer. The kitchen suddenly feels a lot smaller. “You’ve always been the best baker in town, in my opinion” he says winking at you with a flirtatious smile. “I wouldn’t say that if I were you, I fear you’doffend Martha”. Martha being Liam’s grandmother, she owns her own bakery near the fire station, where Liam works as a firefighter. He reaches out, a large hand brushing a stray strand of ginger hair from yourcheek. His touch is electric, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re probably right. Let’s keep this our little secret then” he says, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.