Like Fire & Gasoline

“I don’t understand what the screenwriters were thinking,” Bridgette grumbled, watching the TV carefully. James’s arm was draped around her shoulder as they sat on the couch. He could feel his lips twitching into a grin as he observed her discontent expression.

“What do you mean?” he whispered, playing with a piece of her wheat colored hair. She sighed and rolled her big eyes, as if it were obvious.

“I mean, if they weren’t going to at least follow the book, what’s the point?” she responded rhetorically, earning her a confused gaze.

“There’s a book?” James inquired, and Bridgette laughed a bit, tilting her head up to kiss his cheek.

“Yeah, it’s by Agatha Christie. I had to read it when I was in high school. My teacher was very…eccentric,” Bridgette explained, her eyes wandering back to the scene playing out on the screen. A man was rescuing a woman, who he obviously had very strong feelings for, from being hanged.

“The British author?” he paused as Bridgette nodded. “Didn’t she write a bunch of mystery novels?”

“Uh huh. Now, in the original book, all ten of the characters die; Vera shoots Lombard, and then hangs herself.”

“Why would she do that?” James interrupted as the credits began to roll.

“She shoots him because she thinks he’s the murderer. Then she just feels such guilt for what she did to Cyril and goes a little bit insane and kills herself; Wargrave doesn’t force her to.”

“That’s intense,” James said, letting out a low whistle. Bridgette smiled a bit, opening her mouth to continue.

“Mhm. Plus, in the book, Vera and Lombard don’t fall in love, and Lombard is actually who he says he is.” An annoyed tone seeped into her voice, and James raised his eyebrows.

“Why in the world would the writers of the script change who he is?” he asked, completely baffled. Bridgette threw her arms up, nearly taking his eye out.

“I have no clue! That’s why I hate the movies!”

“There’s another movie?”

“Yeah, and it ends exactly the same, even with Lombard not being Lombard. Only in that one, they’re on a safari.” James opened his mouth, completely confused once again, but the front door swung open.

“Hey sweetie, we’re home,” Adele called out, giving her daughter a warm smile. Bridgette returned it as James shifted uncomfortably beside her. His arm quickly flew off her shoulder, and she had to fight the urge to laugh.

“Hey Mom. Where’s Dad at?” she asked, her eyes finding the grocery bags her mother carried.

“He’s right—“

“Hey Bee,” Lucas called cheerily, but as soon as his sight caught the chestnut haired boy beside his daughter, he froze, nearly dropping the large brown paper bags in his arms.

“Hi Daddy. You remember James, don’t you?” she asked carefully, watching a vein in her father’s forehead throb dangerously. Adele hid a grin, pushing her husband toward the kitchen.

“Hi Mr. Thomas, Mrs. Thomas,” James said hesitantly, raising his hand in a half wave.

“It’s very nice to see you James. Are you staying for dinner?” Adele asked pleasantly. James looked like a deer caught in headlights as his gaze flickered between an amused looking Bridgette and Lucas, who looked like he was going to have a heart attack.

“You really should. I would really like it if you did,” Bridgette said, biting back giggles. He rubbed the back of his neck, defeated.

“I’d love to,” he mumbled.

“What?” Lucas sputtered, and Adele nudged him again in the direction of the kitchen.

“James is staying for dinner, couldn’t you hear? C’mon, honey, you aren’t that old,” she joked, giving one last wink to Bridgette before disappearing through the arch.

“He still terrifies me,” James breathed out, his face a few shades paler.

“Oh, you’ll be fine. He looks a lot more intimidating than he actually is,” Bridgette said lightly, waving it off with her hand.

“I’m sorry, have you seen your father? He’s like, totally ripped, and he has one hell of a stare,” James whisper-screamed, tilting his head to make sure the cause of his fright wasn’t standing anywhere near.

“Oh come on. Don’t be a baby,” she teased, and he quickly spun back to face her, appalled.

“I am so not a baby,” he protested, and she cocked an eyebrow.

“So prove it,” she challenged. A sudden confidence flooded over James and he puffed his chest out a bit.

“I will. I’m going to stay for dinner!” he announced proudly, and she patted his shoulder, a triumphant grin gracing her features.

“I knew you’d be reasonable. Now stay put and make yourself comfortable. I’m going to go see if my mom needs help with dinner.”

As she sauntered through the archway, James’s hazel eyes bulged as he realized what had happened. Bridgette Thomas was definitely good. She had just tricked him into thinking the whole thing was his idea! He sunk against the plush white cushions, internally cursing himself.

A throat clearing caught his attention, and he felt the blood draining from his face. On an armchair next to him sat none other than Lucas Thomas, looking more ferocious than ever. James looked helplessly at the archway to the kitchen, but only saw the granite counter top of the island. He reluctantly brought his gaze back to the icy cold ones he so desperately wished to avoid.

“Bridgette is helping her mother make dinner,” Lucas said shortly, continuing to glare intently at James.

“Okay,” he replied weakly, feeling himself involuntarily fall farther against the couch. It was going to be a long night.