“Ugh!” I said, tossing my jacket over the heap and heading for the kitchen.
“That’s it,” I said, banging open cupboard doors and yanking out pots and pans. “Normal. I want normal. No werewolves, no demons, no murders, and certainly no Parker Hayes.”
I pulled open the freezer door and narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing the frosty contents: veggie dogs. Skinny cows. A frozen gun. Two paper-wrapped packages from the Ferry Market Butchers.
“I want pot roast,” I said, reaching into the freezer. “Normal, human dinner.” I took out one of the paper-wrapped packages and dumped the frozen hunk of meat on the counter. “And peas.” I snatched a bag out and sailed it over my shoulder, hearing it land with a satisfying thud in the sink. “And potatoes.” I stood in the center of the kitchen, hands on hips, frowning at my bare countertops. “Okay, so no potatoes.”
I tossed the frozen pot roast into the microwave and set it to defrost, then sat down with a sleeve of Ritz crackers and some cream cheese. A nice, normal snack, for a nice, normal girl.
Parker Hayes didn’t know what he was missing.
I was halfway through my second sleeve of crackers and nearing the end of a bottle of St. Supery Sauvignon Blanc that I was saving for a special occasion when my cell phone chirped. I glared at the readout and tossed it on to the counter, then poked the pot roast as it spun in the microwave. It was effectively leathery on the outside but frozen solid on the inside, so I dumped a bottle of A1 over it and set the microwave to thirty minutes, then pre-heated the oven. My mouth watered thinking about the juicy, tender pot roast that Grandma would make on Sundays, and I frowned, thinking of poor Alfred Sherman and his disastrous fate.
“Normal,” I reminded myself while the pot roast spun.
I heard the deafening pop of the gunshot a millisecond before I felt the searing pain at the side of my head. My stomach lurched angrily, and I shakily touched the open wound, my fingertips immediately mingling with oozing blood.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Oh my God—I’m going to die!”
I crumpled to the floor, the pain at my temple hot and thundering, my warm blood rushing in rivulets to my ears. I felt the lump grow in my throat, felt the tears wash over my cheeks as I reached for the cell phone, then rested my throbbing head against the cool linoleum floor. “Nina,” I whispered to the empty kitchen. “Help me.”
*
When I woke up I was staring at my kitchen ceiling with Parker’s concerned face looming over me.
“Lawson? Lawson?” I could hear his voice, but it sounded foggy, a million miles away.
I tried to move, but everything hurt. My stomach was churning, my head felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, and everywhere around me was the stench of burning, of wounded flesh.
“How bad is it?” I murmured.
I saw Parker look around, his blue eyes big and wondering. “It’s pretty bad,” he said solemnly. “It’s a mess in here.”
I felt the lump forming in my throat, and before I could stop it, my eyes went moist again and I could feel the hot tears as they trailed down my cheeks for the second time this evening. “Am I going to die?” I whispered.
Parker bit his lip and then—smiled?
“From pot roast? I doubt it.”
I blinked. “Pot roast?” I sat up on my elbows and looked around my kitchen. The exploded, smoky remains of my pot roast was everywhere. I touched the wound on my head and came away with a handful of shredded meat and sticky A1 sauce.
“Ugh!” I dropped my head back with a thunk on the linoleum floor. “God, I can’t even do normal right!”
Parker leaned over and waved the empty wine bottle in front of me. “As a matter of fact, I think you do normal quite well.”
“I didn’t drink all that.”
“Then you exploded a defenseless pot roast just for the hell of it?”
“What are you doing over here anyway?” I asked, picking a piece of gristle out of my hair. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with Boobarilla?”
Parker eyed my forehead and avoided my gaze. “Took her home early. And I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking about my baby niece’s breasts.”
“You were out with your niece?”
Parker shrugged, his cheeks a pale pink. “We have a date once a month. Her parents are divorced, and my brother’s kind of an ass.”
“So Uncle Parker to the rescue? Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“You were awfully busy storming out. Besides, I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of a woman and her Tupperware. How was that, by the way?”
I raised one eyebrow suspiciously. “Why are you here again?”
“I was passing by on my way home and saw your light on.” He shrugged. “Wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“Well, aren’t you the Boy Scout?”
Parker grinned and offered me a hand. I tried to stand but slid on some exploded meat. Parker’s arms were around me in a flash, holding me steady.