Corinne Weathers, Cori to her friends and family—but not to her very proper cooking class teacher, Micah DePalma—gave a squeak of fear at the flames creeping up her apron. She slapped at them with her potholder, but it didn't help. Her throat was so tight with panic, she couldn't cry out for help. With one last futile whack at the growing fire, and desperately trying to remain calm, Cori reached behind her neck to untie the apron straps. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the bow and pulled it into a good, solid knot.

A brief hissing sound was the only warning she got before clouds of whatever white stuff lurked inside a fire extinguisher smacked into her gut like a fist and drifted in a halo around her head.

She coughed and waved a hand in the air in an attempt to clear it. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." A familiar male voice threaded through the cloud.

Cori grimaced. Ack. Saved by Micah DePalma, her handsome-but-cranky cooking teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone—anyone—else? She closed her eyes for a moment and prayed for something to rescue her from his wrath. She knew a lecture was on its way, knew she deserved one for setting herself on fire, but she really didn't want to hear it.

"Are you okay?" Micah's low voice rumbled over her, as did one firm hand as he checked for injuries. "No burns?"

Cori ignored the warmth of his skin on hers and cracked open one watering eye to look at him. He really seemed genuinely worried. Not angry. How had that happened? She'd done nothing but annoy him since this course had started.

"I'm okay. Thanks to you." She shrugged off his hand.

"And no thanks to you," he replied, tossing the small fire extinguisher back and forth and giving her a lopsided smile only slightly tinged with irritation.

Uh oh. Here it came. She scrunched up her face, prepared for the worst. Maybe if she apologized before he yelled, it would help. "I'm sorry."

"I imagine you are." He set down the small red metal tube and stared at the disaster area that was her stove. "However, I'd say you failed this lesson. You may spend the rest of class cleaning up this mess."

Without a backward glance to make certain Cori obeyed his royal decree, Micah turned and walked away. She took a quick look at the horrified faces of her classmates. Her face burned as hot as the flames had on her apron, but she refused to give in to the tears that threatened. Instead she snatched up a wet rag and rubbed at the spilled oil and other goop on the stovetop.