Page 10 of Dueling Flames

Chelsea looked back at me and then at Lissa. “You sure?”

Lissa shrugged. “Yeah. Everyone else said it was fine.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Chelsea gave me a side-eye. “I’ll see youse guys there.”

“Who’s all going?” I asked.

“You’ll meet’em when you get there,” Chelsea said.

Lissa

I led Thorne through the bistro. The place had walls of exposed brick, old wooden tables, a seventy-year-old Irish owner who greeted you at the door, and the best mimosas in town. We made our way to a table with my brunch friends, or rather, my found family. Chelsea, my best friend since middle school; Monica, my cousin and one of two family members who supported me when I became a firefighter; and Jeff, who was once an EMT I worked with but has since switched jobs. I had no idea why I was bringing Thorne. Living with him should have made me crazy by now.

We sat at the table and introduced everyone. My friends kept raising their eyebrows at me while they peppered Thorne with questions.

“So, you’re Thorne the partner,” Jeff said. “How do you deal with a partner that doesn’t talk while working?”

I rolled my eyes. I talk.

“She talks. Mostly telling me to stop playing games and grab the hose, but she talks.” He grinned at me, but I looked away. He wasn’t wrong.

“Where did you grow up?” Monica asked.

“Portland, Oregan.”

“You miss it?” Monica again.

“Only in the winter. The wind chill here is unbelievable and unnecessarily cold.” He laughed. “I thought my cold weather clothes were good enough, but I had to go buy more layers.”

I remembered his first winter here. He’d walk into the firehouse shivering and asking how we survived the wind right before he’d collapse on the floor and pretend to thaw.

Thorne charmed my friends much like he charmed everyone, with his smile and positive energy. And it didn’t bother me like I thought it would. Maybe it was the one mimosa I allowed myself to have that relaxed me. If I weren’t driving, I’d have had more.

I looked over at Jeff as he swayed a tad. I counted his empty cups, four. He’d had four mimosas. I started to panic a bit. Tipsy Jeff had minimal filter.

Jeff leaned against the table. “Thorne, what are you?”

“Jeff!” I scolded.

“That’s not right,” Jeff said. “You’re human. What’s your background? Does everyone in Portland look like you? Dark tanned skin, blue eyes, wide nose—”

Monica hit Jeff upside the head. “Who asks those questions?”

Thorne laughed. “I’m from everywhere.” Then he leaned toward me and smiled. I counted his drinks. Six. Damnit.

“Like space everywhere?” Jeff asked.

I groaned. “I’m so sorry, we should go.” I tried to push against Thorne for him to slide out of the booth.

“I’ll explain.” Thorne held up two fingers on his right hand. “My mom is Mexican and White.” Then he held up three fingers on his left hand. “My dad is Korean, Portuguese, and Black.” He pushed his hands together. “I’m a little bit of everything.”

I studied his face. “You’re the damn meltin’ pot.”

“I am.” He grabbed my hand. “I should show you pictures of my brother and sisters. We all look different.”

His eyes looked glassy. “Are you still taking any pain meds?” I asked.

“Just aceto-meto-phelm.”