Kristen Painter - All Fired Up

She dug into the home fries. Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside and greasy all over, just the way she liked them.

Alrik pointed at his plate. “Tell me this name again?”

“That’s an omelet. Pretty basic, just eggs and cheese.”

He took a small bite, then filled his fork for a second helping. “This is very good.”

“Unless it’s overcooked, omelets are kind of hard to mess up.”

“And these?” He pointed again.

“Those are called home fries. Potatoes fried with onions.”

He tasted them. “I have had potatoes. These are also good.”

“Yeah, they are. They’re one of the reasons I come here, actually.”

Spearing one half of his cream cheese smeared bagel on the tines of his fork, he rested an elbow on the table and studied the bread. “What is this?”

She picked up her half with her fingers and planted her elbow on the table as well. “It’s called a bagel. This one has cinnamon and raisins in it. The white stuff is called cream cheese and you don’t eat it with a fork.”

Taking a bite to demonstrate, she watched as he mimicked her. Cream cheese all over his mouth, his eyes went wide. He chewed with relish and finally swallowed. “This is the best thing I have ever eaten. This spiced bread is delicious.”

The half was gone in three bites. He picked up the remaining half, about to devour it, then stopped. “You are not eating yours. I will eat it for you.”

“Just ‘cause I’m not eating it right now doesn’t mean I’m not going to. Eat your own. I’ll buy some to take home.”

“There is more of this round bread to be had?”

“Tons. And these aren’t even the really good ones. You should try the ones from Zabar’s.”

“We will go to this Zabar today and barter with him for more of these spiced breads.”

“Um, one—we aren’t going anywhere else today, two—Zabar’s is a store not a man, and three—they’re bagels, not spiced breads.”

“You are a difficult woman. Is that why you do not have a husband?”

She almost choked on the home fries. “I am not difficult. And I don’t need a husband. I almost had one, but that’s none of your business.”

“Perhaps that is why I am here.”

“What? Why?” She put her fork down.

“To find you a husband. A woman of your age should be married by now.”

Temper piqued, she stared at him. “Of my age? You are out of your ever-loving mind, you know that? To quote my mother, you are completely off your nut.”

“What does this mean?”

She glared at him. “I am no longer talking to you.”

“But you just spoke.”

“I meant after that.”

“And yet, you speak again.”

“Argh! Men!” Stabbing chunks of potato until her fork was full, she stuffed the food into her mouth and chewed. How dare he. He had no idea what had happened in her life. If Brad hadn’t worked at the law firm that had handled her parent’s estate, she wouldn’t even have met him. How was she supposed to have a social life when she had spent almost every waking moment keeping her sick mother company, paying her mother’s bills, taking care of her parent’s house, and trying to keep the dance studio going?

The sooner she got rid of this male chauvinist Viking, the better.

Alrik watched as Calleigh jammed the key into the lock, then shoved through the door to her home. She had yet to utter a word to him. Nothing like the women he had encountered in past centuries, this one had the spark of the Valkyrja in her. The thought sent sparks of a different kind skittering down his spine.

He put the rain shield in the corner, along with the sack of clothes, and followed her into the kitchen. She threw the brown paper pouch of spiced bread onto the counter. Bagels, he reminded himself.

She turned to leave and almost ran into him. He smiled, trying to think of ways to get her to speak. Glaring but still soundless, she swerved around him.

The cat sat by a bowl, meowing. “Your animal is hungry.”

Another lethal glare shot in his direction. She snatched something from a cabinet, tossed it at him then disappeared around the corner. He caught the squat tin and studied it. The picture of a cat on it did not resemble her cat. He frowned and set the tin on the counter.

He took a bagel from the sack and broke off a piece, bending down as he offered it to the little animal. “Here, cat. Here is something good.” He shifted. The trousers she had bought him bound his loins in a most uncomfortable way.

The cat sniffed the bread, licked it, then chomped down on the morsel and ran off.

“What did you just feed him?” Calleigh peered around the wall, a fire in her eyes that warmed his belly.

She was talking to him again. He stood up and smiled. “Spiced…I mean, bagel.”

“You can’t give Snickers cinnamon raisin bagels. What do you think he is, a little kid in a cat costume? What was wrong with the food I gave you?”

“What food?”

“This!” She grabbed the tin off the counter and jabbed it into the air so that the animal was in front of his face.

“That cat does not look like your cat.” Even he could see that. Did she think him simple?

A slip of a smile turned the corners of her mouth and then it was gone. She struggled to stay angry.

“It doesn’t have to be the same cat.” She rolled her eyes again, but her tone was softer.

“You are speaking to me. Does that mean you are no longer angry with me?” Odin’s spear, she was fair. Thor would have traded his hammer for a lass this comely. Such thick locks to trail across his skin, such delicate hands made to please.

His thoughts worsened the already wretched fit of the trousers she insisted he wear. Shifting again, he tried to adjust the fabric’s rough restraints without her noticing. Valhalla’s halls must be ringing with Freya’s laughter.

Calleigh’s anger disappeared like fruit loops at a toddler convention. “Yes, I’m done being mad at you. For now.”

Alrik smiled, but not in Brad’s I-told-you-it-would-be-better-my-way kind of smile. The Viking’s smile was a gentle thank you.

“I did not mean to feed your animal something wrong.” He pulled at his jeans, fidgeting with the waistband.

“I know you didn’t. And his name is Snickers, like the candy bar. Anyway, you didn’t hurt him. I just try not to give him people food. He’s spoiled enough as it is.”

“What is a candy bar?”

“Heaven in a wrapper. It’s chocolate and nuts and caramel. Very yummy.”

“You named your cat after a sweet?”

“I have a weakness for chocolate, what can I say?” She shrugged.

He nodded and started unbuttoning his jeans.

“What are you doing?”

“These trousers are binding me. They are not good. I will wear the blue fabric you gave me instead.”

Based on the image blazing through her brain, she knew she must be blushing. “It’s partially my fault. I forgot to buy you underwear. Washing the jeans would probably help, too.”

“What does this under-wear do?”

Lovely. What’s next? The birds and the bees? “Underwear goes on between your…skin and your clothes. It would help make your jeans more comfortable.”

He plucked at his pants. “These are jeans?”

“Yes.”

“I cannot wear these jeans any longer.” He unzipped them.

“Stop!” She put her hands up and looked away. “You can’t just strip down in the kitchen.”

“Then which room may I strip down in?”

“That’s not what I meant. You can’t just take your clothes off and walk around naked.”

One dark brow shot up. “Why not?”

Yeah, why not? Her hands went to her hips. Time to focus. She looked him in the eyes. “Because you’re not two, that’s why. Listen, I’ll wash your stuff but you have to change in the bathroom and put the sweatpants back on, understand?”