Free Grill Me, Baby by Sophia Knightly

unflattering bowl haircut that emphasized her puffy face. Her thick, straight bangs were so long they covered her eyebrows, giving her a gloomy look. For a long, aching moment, she stared at the somber face, wishing she could turn back time and bring a smile to it.
    Her senior year had been fraught with pressure and unhappiness as her parents had tried to steer her to Yale instead of to The Culinary Institute of America. But not all was lost, she reminded herself staunchly. She had persevered and gotten an excellent liberal arts education at Yale. When she graduated, she attended Duke law school, but dropped out in her third year and headed straight for the CIA in New York and then to Paris, where she studied at Le Cordon Bleu. Her parents had never forgiven her.
    “Yikes, smells like something’s burning!” Tiffany suddenly cried out, darting up from the sofa.

Chapter Six
    “Oh, no!” Michaela saw the flames flickering inside the cast iron skillet the second she ran into the kitchen.
    Tiffany gave a high-pitched squeal and dashed toward the sink where she grabbed the faucet hose, struggling to pull it out. She wildly sprayed water from afar, not only dousing the flaming pan, but Michaela as well.
    “Not me, the pans!” Michaela cried, when the stream of water drenched her face. Frustration welled up inside her as she surveyed the charred zucchini strips and withered mushrooms stuck to the cast iron skillet. The once meaty grouper filets looked like shriveled sardines. “What a disaster! Everything’s ruined,” she moaned.
    Michaela’s hair was dripping from Tiffany’s careless play with the water hose. Paolo’s lips were twitching and so were Tiffany’s as they struggled not to laugh. Michaela couldn’t help but join in their mirth, but she then she sobered. No chef worth her salt left a meal unattended and let it burn. She felt drained and mortified as she grabbed a dishtowel off the hook and blotted her face dry.
    “I’ll help you clean up,” Tiffany said in a soothing voice. “Why don’t we order pizza?”
    “I’m not hungry anymore,” Michaela said quietly. “Maybe you guys should leave.”
    Paolo took the dishtowel from Michaela and carried the charred pan to the sink. He tucked the towel in around his waist, turned on the faucet, and made short work of emptying the burnt remains into the garbage disposal.
    “What are you doing?” Michaela was at his side in an instant.
    “You’re tired and upset and this is partly our fault.” Looking concerned, Paolo smiled at her before turning back to his work. “You’ve had a long day. Go relax in the living room and I’ll clean up for you.”
    “It’s okay. You don’t have to clean up my mistakes,” she said, taking the towel from his waist.
    “I insist,” Paolo countered, his voice deepening with firmness as he tried to take the towel from her hands, but she held on and a tug of war ensued. “Let go and do as I say, nena . You’re being stubborn.”
    “It’s my kitchen.” She knew she sounded grouchy, but she needed to be alone in her kitchen, to compose her tattered emotions.
    Paolo gave her an uncompromising look and then turned to the sink and resumed washing the dishes.
    As if on cue, Tiffany scrambled toward the living room and picked up her Tory Burch handbag. “C’mon, Mic, walk me out.”
    Michaela followed her to the door and Tiffany gave her hand a quick squeeze. “We were not poking fun at your picture. I swear I would never do that!”
    “I know,” Michaela said. “But you shouldn’t have brought out my yearbook. You, of all people, know I don’t treasure those memories.” 
    “Oh, stop it. You’re the only one with the fat complex. Look at you! You’re a knockout, you fool,” Tiffany chided. 
    Michaela sighed deeply. How could she stay mad at her sister after that? “Thanks, I guess I’m just tired.”
    “I understand, sweetie. But before I go there’s something I have to tell you.” She paused. “I’m