Aaron bounded up the stairs of the aged apartment building, taking the steps two at a time. His sister Emma lived on the third floor. It was Aaron's birthday, and Emma had invited her big brother over for dinner. He didn't want to be late.
They hadn't seen each other in months. Aaron and Emma lived an hour's drive from each other, but their busy schedules made it difficult for them to get together. Aaron was a recent graduate of medical school, sometimes pulling 20-hour shifts as an intern at a nearby hospital. Emma did double duty as a cooking school student by day and sous chef at a popular French restaurant by night.
Aaron arrived at Emma's door and paused before knocking. He was nervous, and he was not sure why. Maybe it was because he had not seen her in a while. Maybe it was because of his sister's personality, so different from his: light, vivacious, and always sparkly, with a taste for mischief. Or, maybe it was because of what happened on the mountain four years earlier.
He had no more time to think about it because the door flew open. Emma stood in front of Aaron, inside the door, and he had to check himself to avoid gasping.
Aaron knew his sister was pretty. His friends often reminded him of it, despite their being four years older than she was. In high school it always seemed a little creepy to Aaron that his friends snuck glances at his middle school-aged sister, even if she was undeniably cute. Aaron had long since reconciled himself to the fact that, while he was a good-looking guy, his kid sister was in another league of attractiveness. Everywhere she went, she drew admirers, even among his friends.
Emma never looked better than she did standing in the doorway to greet Aaron on his 26
th
birthday.
The toothy, eager smile and wide-open shining eyes always attracted his attention first. It was gratifying, Aaron thought, to see his sister so enthusiastic to see him. Emma's straight hair was cut in a wedge that stopped above her shoulders. She'd kept it that way ever since becoming a chef. It was practical but stylish. Aaron tried, but he couldn't help sweeping his eyes quickly over his sister's body. A white tank top with a deep scoop neck hugged her torso, showing off the cleavage of breasts raised high and pressed together by a push-up bra. A thin band of skin showed under the bottom hem of the tank top, and beneath that band no more than 12 inches of tan miniskirt obscured the hips and waist that gave way below to long, shapely legs atop sandals with four-inch heels. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a matching shade of pink.
Emma was one of those girls who looked sexy and glamorous, in a girl-next-door way, without trying too hard. But Aaron thought she looked more glamorous than normal. He was no expert on cosmetics, but it looked like she was wearing more makeup than he had seen her wear before.
"Aaron!" she called, throwing her arms out.
Before he could think what to say she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a tight hug.
"It's so good to see you, big brother," she said. "Happy Birthday."
"It's good to see you too, Emma," Aaron said. "Really good."
Emma turned, and Aaron followed her into her apartment. To his chagrin, he caught himself glancing at her trim, round bottom molded by the little skirt.
As soon as he stepped into the apartment he was hit by the heat and the scent coming from the kitchen. Pungent smells of onions and spices swirled in hot, humid air. Aaron loved food -- good food. He had little time for it while he was kept busy by his internship duties. The aroma coming from Emma's kitchen immediately set off a wave of grumbling in his stomach.
Aaron could smell the kitchen, but he could not see it. He walked into the small living room of Emma's apartment. Aaron looked around. On the outside the building was not much to look at, but once inside he could tell the landlord had taken steps to update the interior. The plaster walls were smooth and white, and they were trimmed in freshly stained wood. Aaron was impressed that Emma could afford such a nice apartment. He was struck, too, by the care with which she had decorated it. She liked color, obviously. Chairs, sofas, lamps, and assorted bric-a-brac displayed every hue of the rainbow, but somehow Emma had brought all the colors together with a skilled eye. Emma's fondness for color contrasted with Aaron's preference for the monochrome -- his own home was done up mostly in gray and white and muted earth tones.
When Aaron was done taking in his surroundings he turned to Emma, who was staring at him.
"You have a roommate, right?" Aaron asked. "Is she around?"
"Nope," Emma said. "Riley's away for the weekend. Visiting her brother. It's just us."
"Well, I feel special," Aaron said. "Whatever you're cooking smells fantastic."
"Why don't you come in and see," Emma said. She pivoted, and Aaron followed her into the kitchen, his eyes again glancing at her butt and at the hem of the little skirt against the backs of her lean thighs. He shook his head.
I've got to stop doing that, he thought.
The kitchen was bright and colorful, like the rest of the apartment. It was small, a narrow rectangle of black and white floor tiles in a checkerboard pattern with the stove and cupboards on one side and sink and refrigerator on the other. Emma used her limited space to maximum effect. The kitchen brimmed with pots and pans and bottles of spices and colorful vegetables everywhere, but the placement of everything seemed orderly, not chaotic.
Emma knew her way around a kitchen. She always had. Aaron remembered Emma as a child, her eyes barely reaching counter level, begging their mother to let her cook. Mom let her. By the time she was in middle school Emma was a better cook than their mom, although Aaron would never have told his mom that. Mom did not seem to mind; she liked ceding the kitchen duties to her young, eager daughter, whose enthusiasm for cooking gave mom a chance to relax. For Emma, cooking was not a daily chore; it was a passion and an art.
Steam rose from pots and pans on the stove. Emma pulled the oven door open and a whisper of smoke issued from inside. She reached into the oven with a thick mitt on her hand and pulled out a tray of yellowy-orange puff balls. Aaron did not recognize them, but his nose caught the rich scent of baked gruyere cheese.
Emma set the tray on the stove top and pulled off the mitts. She put another large dish sitting nearby into the oven. She picked up a bottle of white Burgundy sitting on the counter and poured it -- glug, glug, glug -- into two glasses. She picked up one and handed it to Aaron, who took it, and she picked up the tray of orangey puff balls and they walked to the living room.
Aaron and Emma settled into their seats and Emma offered a cheesy puff ball to Aaron. Aaron reached for one.
"What's this called?"
"Gougere," Emma replied. Aaron, who didn't speak French, was impressed by Emma's accent.
Aaron took the cheesy ball into his finger and put it to his lips. He bit off a piece. It came away in a flaky, flavorful chunk.
"Wow, Emma," Aaron said. "That's delicious." He took another bite, and another. Aaron looked at Emma and smiled with the savory pieces of baked cheese in his mouth.
Emma held a cheese ball in her hand, but her attention was on Aaron, not the appetizer.
"It's been a long time, Aaron," she said.
"Too long," he said. "Sorry about that. My internship keeps me working like a dog."
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. Emma looked at Aaron intently. She shifted in the seat across from him and Aaron couldn't stop his eyes from glancing at her legs. The skirt rode high on her smooth thighs as she sat.
