An Old Flame
PENELOPE
The stove was scorching to the touch. Smoke filled the room.
I slapped at rising flames, trying to smother the blazing grease fire I had just started. Waving a dishtowel, choking on the acrid smell of carbon dioxide, I couldn’t believe how perfectly a kitchen accident was mirroring my life.
I was going to die.
I was going to die of smoke inhalation and a potential heart attack because the one person I never expected Bishop to tell… he told.
I specifically told Bishop not to tell anyone, and what does he do? He tells…him.
And now I’d stubbed my toe, dropped my food on a gas stove flame and nearly singed my eyebrows off because in the middle of my lunch hour, during the one peaceful time I’d managed to sneak to myself all day, I’d been rudely interrupted.
And no
