I carefully made my way back down the stairs as the moans got louder. My stomach was in a knot when I got my stuff and headed for the door. I had put Beth’s father on a pedestal. I knew he was rough around the edges, and hardly a saint, but he dedicated his life to helping people. He put on his life on the line every time a building went up in flames. That heroism was what drew me to him. I never imagined he would be the type of guy that would engage in something so filthy. He was single, so he could do whatever—or whoever—he wanted. It wasn’t my place to judge, but I had to let go of my childish fantasy. I wanted him. I definitely didn’t want to be shared.
I just wish those images would stop flashing in my head—and stop making my pussy tingle.
Wendy
Present day
I moved to Georgia after graduation and started college in the fall. I got a part-time job to help cover expenses, and began the next chapter of my life. I lost touch with most of my friends from high school, except Beth. She started dating a guy named Brent and fell madly in love with him. A short while later they were engaged, and she didn’t wait until she graduated from college to get married. I came back home for the first time since leaving to be her Maid-of-Honor. It was a beautiful ceremony, but I spent most of the weekend trying not to look her father in the eye. Every time I did, the images of what I saw that day at his house flashed in my head.
Unfortunately, the weekend wasn’t entirely filled with Beth’s wedding vows and awkwardness. I also found out that my father’s drinking had started to take a significant toll on his health. I had tried to keep in touch with him, but most of the time when I called, all he did was start telling me the same stories I was tired of hearing. I returned to school after Beth’s wedding, but I was filled with guilt. I had grown up a lot since I left, and while I had never said the words to his face, I forgave my father. Seeing him in that state broke my heart, and after I graduated, I moved back home to try and take care of him.
It wasn’t easy, but over the course of a few months, I finally seemed to get through to him. I got him admitted to a detox and rehabilitation enter, and he started his road to recovery. His house was paid off, and he was getting by on government benefits after losing his job, so I did my best to clean it up while he was away. The business degree I worked so hard for was put on the shelf because there really weren’t any good jobs nearby. The only job I managed to find was in a bakery downtown, working for a woman named Jillian Hall. She was nice enough, and Marigold Bakery was doing good business, but it wasn’t my true calling. It gave me what I needed, though—a steady paycheck.
“Wendy, you got here just in time! Put on your apron and get behind the counter, I need to run to the bank.” Jillian stripped off her apron and hung it on the hook near the door.
“Sure thing!” I smiled and grabbed my apron.
“I’ve got some rum muffins in the oven, glaze on the stove, and the kitchen needs to be cleaned up when they’re done.” She smiled and picked up her purse. “I trust you can handle all of that?”
“Yeah—I think so.” I nodded and walked behind the counter.
“Okay, I should be back soon. Hopefully I get there before they close.” She opened the door and took a step back. “Sorry, it looks like we’ve got some customers hea
ded this way.”
“No problem. I got this.” I waved her off and walked over to the register.
Oh right, something is cooking.
I ran to the kitchen to check on everything, and then I heard customers entering, just like Jillian said. I rushed back to the register, bagged muffins, sliced cake, and handed out a few cookies. Once the initial rush was over, I did a quick trip back to the kitchen. The glaze needed stirring and after a few quick stirs, I realized it wasn’t quite ready to be removed from the stove. I peeked into the oven to see how the muffins looked, and then the chime sounded to signal that another customer had arrived. It wasn’t uncommon for the bakery to have a few moments during the day when customers were showing up in droves, but I normally wasn’t there by myself. I did another round of customer orders and heard the timer for the muffins. I quickly ran back to the kitchen, grabbed a potholder, and pulled them out of the oven.
They might need a couple more minutes.
I turned towards the oven with the pan, but as I was turning, the muffins bumped into something. My eyes got wide when I saw that it was the small bottle of rum Jillian had used to flavor the muffins. The bottle tilted, and before I could react, it fell over and the rum started pouring out onto the stove—a stove that still had blue flames burning. I put the muffins down, tossed the potholder, and reached to turn off the stove, but it was too late. The vapors from the alcohol ignited and I nearly stuck my hand into the fire. I recoiled, jerking my hand back, and the fire covered the surface of the stove. I looked around for a towel or something to smother it, but before I could find anything, the sprinklers started going off—all of them except the one directly over the stove. It was dripping instead of spraying.
Just my luck. Seriously!?
The fire was getting bigger, and had spread to some of the boxes of baking ingredients next to the stove, which sent a few sparks flying. That was causing the smoke to get thicker. My best bet was to find the fire extinguisher or get the sprinkler to work. I suddenly realized that I had no idea where the fire extinguisher was, and I was in full panic mode as the fire spread. I grabbed the stool Jillian used to get stuff off the top shelf, and a wooden spoon. It was a long shot, but I didn’t know what else to do. I set the stool up, climbed it, and started hammering the sprinkler with the spoon. After a few stiff shots, the sprinkler opened up and started spraying. Most of the initial sprays went in my face, which caused me to stumble and start gagging because it was absolutely rancid. I balanced myself, took a step down, and wasn’t prepared for the rung to be wet. My foot slipped, the spoon went flying, and I started falling towards the floor. Before I felt the floor rise up to meet me, my head hit something, and darkness engulfed my vision.
My eyes parted and my vision was foggy. I was staring up at a fire—no, it wasn’t a fire. It was the sun. I wasn’t in the kitchen anymore, I was outside. I could hear sirens blaring. I turned my head, but I couldn’t move it much because there was some sort of collar around my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a fire truck with the lights flashing. I tried to sit up, but my head was throbbing, and I had straps across my chest. It appeared that I was on a stretcher. My vision continued to come into focus and I tried to turn my head in the other direction, seeing an ambulance out of the corner of my other eye. A paramedic was inside it, and another one was doing something to the doors. My thoughts cleared a little more and I remembered the fire—I remembered falling. Jillian was going to kill me. The paramedic walked up and grabbed the edge of the stretcher, pulling it towards the ambulance.
“I think I’m okay.” I tried to reach out and touch his arm.
“You’re awake—good.” A paramedic looked down at me and nodded.
“Wait, hold on. Wendy?” A familiar voice echoed, like a memory trying to jump from the past to the present.
“Huh? Mr. Shaw?” My eyes blinked a couple of times and I saw Beth’s father leaning over the stretcher.
“How many times have I told you to call me Brody?” He pulled off his helmet and dropped it on the ground. “Do you feel okay? You hit your head pretty hard.”
“I think I’m okay.” I nodded against the neck brace, which didn’t allow much movement.
“They’re going to take you to the hospital just to be sure you don’t have a concussion.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “I’ll get in touch with your father and follow you to the hospital.”
“No—don’t call him.” I grimaced and felt the pounding in my head getting stronger. “He’s not home.”
“Okay.” Brody nodded and squeezed my hand again. “You seem to be alert, so that’s a good sign, but it’s better to take precautions.”