At some point, the smoke and acrid smell of them burning penetrated their hazy afterglow, and they separated. Natalie scrambled off the island and rushed to the stove to lift the skillet, turn off the burner and drop the mess into the sink. Cold water sizzled when it met the hot cookware, eliciting a cloud of smoke. Coughing, she turned away from the sink in time to see Orion turning on a huge exhaust fan with a switch on the wall. The fan sucked all the smoke to the ceiling and into the vents within minutes, leaving just a faint stench behind. With that crisis narrowly averted, they stared at each other without speaking. Natalie dropped her gaze, feeling awkward now that the sex was over. It had been earth-shattering, had rocked her to the core and had her thinking some very emotional thoughts at the end. How did she get past that to pretend everything was normal? It wasn’t possible to pick up the threads of their dog food conversation and go on as if they hadn’t just made wild, passionate love on the kitchen island.
