- Author
- 12/12/2013
- 1,112 Words
- 3,163 Views
- 28 Comments
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
2013 - Winter - Recipe for Disaster Entry
Great Balls of Fire! - 1. Chapter 1
Great Balls of Fire by KC Grim
Glancing over the recipe card, I blew out a frustrated breath and cursed Linda for the hundredth time. “A dash of Cayenne Pepper, a pinch of Basil, and a sprinkle of Ginger? What was she trying to do to me?” I growled slamming the card back down on the countertop. “She knows that I’m kitchenly challenged, so why the hell would she give me a recipe without exact measurements? How am I supposed to figure out a sprinkle of this and a dash of that?”
Linda’s spicy fried shrimp were always golden delicious. Our co-workers raved about the delectable sensation whenever she brought us some leftovers as a treat. If she didn’t want to give me her secret recipe, I would understand, but making me have to guess at the quantities was just cruel.
When I told her I wanted to make a special dinner for Robert tonight, she seemed more than happy to help, so I didn’t know why she would screw me like this. Oh well, now was not the time to dwell on it. I had to get the spices mixed into the flour if I was going to pull this dinner off tonight. A bowl of fresh mixed salad was already chilling in the fridge while buttermilk biscuits were cooking in the oven. All there was left to do was to wait for the pan of oil on the stove to start boiling.
Opening the front door, Robert shouted from the bottom of the stairs, “Hey babe, I’m home.”
My heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. When we made the decision to move in together a few months earlier, Robert never asked me that one, all-important question, ‘Do you know how to cook?’ It was too late now.
With our unpredictable work schedules, most nights we ordered take-out. On the rare occasion that we had a free evening, Robert was the one who cooked while I sat on the bar stool, providing laughter and entertainment, but not tonight. Tonight, it was my turn to make him a romantic dinner that he would never forget.
Robert kicked off his boots and dropped his bag of work tools at the top of the landing. He sniffed at the air and smiled. “What are you up to?”
Blocking his entrance into the kitchen, I grinned and faked my most innocent look. “Nothing!”
Luckily, he didn’t try to argue. Robert usually had enough conflict at work that he didn’t want to bring strife home with him. This was our place of sanctuary.
The guy that Robert worked for was a real asshole, the kind of loud-mouth-narrow-minded-bigoted-homophobic-jerk that spewed his opinion-vomit on everyone. I knew that Robert was doing everything he could to get another job, so the least I could do was make our home a safe haven for him. His tan had started to fade since the summer months passed, showing the overwhelming number of freckles painting his sweet face. “You never stop amazing me.” Robert leaned in for a kiss.
Without much prodding, I turned Robert around and pushed him towards the bathroom. “I’m glad, now go take a shower so I can finish making dinner.”
As quick as I turned my attention back to the stove, the telephone rang. I heard the water start in the distance and knew that Robert was already in the shower. “Hello,” I sang into the receiver as I cradled the phone against my cheek.
“Hey, KC, whatcha doing?” Chris asked, without giving me a chance to answer.
“I’m waiting for this stupid pan of oil to boil,” I said with a huff.
Typical Chris, he just continued talking overtop of me. “Because, if you guys don’t have plans, Brian and I are having a card game tonight---Fuck, KC, oil doesn’t boil!”
The same moment Chris’s words rang in my ears, I heard the distinctive whoosh of flames racing across the stove-top.
“Shit! Fire!” I shouted, dropping the phone to the floor and racing towards the engulfed pan on the stove.
I tried to keep a level head. “Smother a fire…right?” Frantically searching the drawers, I found a kitchen towel to smother the flames with. I threw the cloth over the fire, but only succeeded in catching the towel on fire and making the flames even bigger.
“Damn it!” I needed to keep my wits about me. There was a large fire in our kitchen and I had to put it out. “Think, KC, think,” I chided myself.
Grabbing the pan’s handle, my attempt to toss the fiery mess into the sink and contain the flames dissolved when hot oil splashed over the rim and up my forearm, setting me on fire. I flinched and recoiled from the searing pain. The pan slipped from my grip and landed on the floor, splattering oil and spreading flames across the vinyl tiles, blocking the entrance to the kitchen.
Ripping the front of my shirt, I quickly put out the flames on my arm, but then I was panicking! What do I do? I’m trapped in the fucking kitchen. The flames had grown several feet wider.
“What the hell is going on?” Robert’s voice boomed over the roar of the fire. He rushed into the kitchen without seeing the greasy mess that started the blaze and slipped in the oil on the floor.
It was a nightmare watching the man that I loved fall naked into a blazing fire…a fire I caused!!! The oil instantly set Robert on fire. His auburn hair was still wet and matted to his body from the shower, but that didn’t matter as his sensitive flesh started to burn.
Robert scrambled several times in the slick, greasy mess and quickly regained his footing. He grabbed the burning pan, raced through our apartment and launched the pan off the second-floor balcony. It soared through the night like a fire-ball, exploding in flames when it hit the icy ground below.
I met Robert at the door with a towel to pat out the flames on his back and thighs. Robert used the fire extinguisher to put out the flames curling the cream-colored tiles, now scorched black, while I used the bath towel to snuff out the fire on the stove. Just as quick as it started, it was over.
“What the fuck just happened, KC?” Robert trembled as he shouted.
I stood there… shocked…looking around at the mess in our home…black soot…a coating of yellow extinguisher chalk covered everything. “I was waiting for the oil to boil.”
“Oil doesn’t bloody boil,” Robert growled at me.
“Well, I know that now!”
Thanks for reading! 😀
-
29
-
1
-
2
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
2013 - Winter - Recipe for Disaster Entry
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign UpSign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.