Hot Night in the Kitchen with Sis

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.

"Any time for love life?" Emma asked. "Are you seeing anybody?"

"Love life? What's that?" Aaron asked, laughing. "I can't remember my last date. I'm a medical intern, remember? What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?"

"I've had a couple of dates in the last two months," Emma said. "But nobody special. Nobody that's caught my eye. Riley tried to set me up with a guy she knew, but that didn't work out."

"Sorry to hear that," Aaron said. "Guess we're just unlucky in love right now." Aaron was sure men must have been beating a path to Emma's door, so she must have been very picky not to have a boyfriend.

"I have to get something," Emma said, interrupting their conversation. Her legs swept wide as she turned away from Aaron to rise off the sofa, and Aaron caught a brief but clear look at pale pink panties under Emma's miniskirt.

I've got to stop doing that, he said to himself. But he did not stop. His eyes stared between his sister's legs while the panties were in view. When she rose and turned away his eyes followed her ass. The short skirt covered little.

Aaron forced himself to look away from his sister. He looked around the room. He saw a black and white photo in a 5x7 inch frame on the side table next to the sofa on which he sat. It was a photo of him. Aaron had never seen it before. But he felt only a moment of confusion before realizing where and when it had been taken, and by whom.

Emma had taken the photo, on top of a mountain they had climbed together, four years earlier.

It was August. Emma was 18 and on her way to her first year of college. Aaron was about to start medical school. They decided to hike to the top of nearby mountain together, before either left for school.

Aaron drove his beat-up Hyundai for an hour and a half to the trailhead, arriving by early afternoon. He carried sandwiches and water for Emma and himself in his backpack. Clambering up the mountain, Aaron was struck by Emma's high energy. Aaron walked at a steady pace, but Emma was everywhere -- lagging behind him, pacing at his side, dashing ahead of him on gamine legs and nimble feet. When she went ahead, Aaron could not help but notice the perfect sculpture of her ass under the tight and brief blue Lululemon shorts, though he felt guilty about noticing. He tried to look away, but he could not. More than once he thought he noticed Emma's ass wiggle as she hiked directly in front of him.

Aaron could not remember spending a more joyous day with his sister. They talked nonstop the whole way up the mountain, the August heat and sunshine beating down on them. Halfway up they sat down for a long lunch under the dappled shade of an oak. Emma talked about starting college in a few weeks. Aaron shared his worries about medical school. When done with eating lunch and talking about school, Emma thanked Aaron for bringing food for the hike. She told him she'd make it up to him sometime. They continued up the steep, dusty trail.

A coat of grime and sweat lay over their bodies by the time they reached the peak. They stood alone on the top. Already, the sun perched low in the sky, and it bathed the surrounding hills in a golden glow broken at irregular intervals by the shadows winding through the valleys below them. On its north side, the peak gave way abruptly to a cliff, hundreds of feet high, and Aaron and Emma walked to the edge and stood silently looking to its foot below.

Emma pulled out her little camera from Aaron's backpack, asked Aaron to pose near the edge, and took a photo of him. He took a photo of her. She put the camera away and they walked again to the edge of the cliff, eyes scanning the olive mountains that rolled and rumbled to a hazy horizon in every direction.

Emma took Aaron's hand, then, and she squeezed it hard. Whether it was from fear or joy or sheer impulsiveness, Aaron did not know, but he squeezed her hand back, and they glanced at each other.

The glance became something else, and before Aaron knew what he was doing he took hold of Emma by her hips and he kissed her, his lips barely brushing hers. Suddenly aware that he was kissing his sister, he started to pull away, but Emma grabbed him and pulled him back to her. She pushed her face toward his. They kissed again, this time harder and longer.

Kissing one's sister was supposed to be disgusting, or boring. But kissing Emma was neither. When his lips touched hers, Aaron's loins stirred, and his heart soared. A hundred feelings crowded his mind and his body, all of them bathed in warmth and golden light from the sun in the west. Best of all, Emma kissed him back. Her lips mashed against his and his arms went around her, cradling her back and shoulders. Somewhere in the back of Aaron's mind the thought popped up that what he was doing was wrong, but the desire to kiss his sister pushed the thought back down. Aaron and Emma stood on the top of the mountain, lips and bodies together, with the sun going down, heedless of time and of other people and of other people's rules.

When at last they pulled back, their eyes searched each other. They had no answers for what they had done or for their feelings about it. They said nothing to one another. They looked to the sun low in the western sky and knew they had better hurry down the mountain or soon they would be hiking in the dark.

For the several miles it took to get back to the car they hiked in silence, racing the oncoming darkness, feet tumbling over each other and minds scrambling to make sense of what had happened between them. By the time they reached the trailhead the deep gloom of twilight had settled over the mountain.

In the car on the way home, and during the four years that passed, neither Aaron nor Emma ever talked about what happened on the mountain. But Aaron never forgot about it.

Now, in his sister's apartment, Aaron looked at himself in the photo, four years younger. In the photo he wore his hair longer and wavier than he did now. But it was his eyes that Aaron noticed. In the photo, Aaron stared directly into the lens, at the photographer. His sister. And his eyes shone with the unmistakable look of love.

"I'm back!" Emma called, breaking the spell that held her brother.

"You O.K.?" she asked, after Aaron shook his head and did not say anything.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to a colorful gift bag in her hand.

"It's your present. I thought we'd open it before dinner."

"Thanks," Aaron said, taking it. He pulled the blue and white tissue paper out the top, and reached in. He pulled it out and opened it to reveal his present.

A stick of pink lip gloss.

"What is this, sis?" Aaron asked, shaking his head. Emma smirked at him.

"Don't you remember?"

Aaron looked at the stick again and scowled, puzzled. His eyes went wide when he realized what it was.

"No way!" he said. "Is this what I think it is? My 15^th birthday? How do you have this?"

Emma clapped her hands and giggled. She fell against the back of the sofa.

On his 15^th birthday, Aaron, a shy, awkward, and, at that time pimply, teen, opened Emma's present in front of twelve of his friends, and he pulled out a stick of lip gloss -- the same one he held now. His friends howled with laughter and Aaron's cheeks burned red with embarrassment. He tossed the lip gloss at Emma, and it hit her in the forehead. Later in the day, long after the party was over, he apologized to Emma for throwing it at her and even laughed about it a little, but he never saw the lip gloss again, until now.

Emma held her hand out.

"Here," she said. "I've saved that for 11 years. I don't expect you to use it, but you don't have to throw it back at me. I'll take it."

He handed it to her. Emma popped the lid off and screwed the tip open, and she ran it over each lip, slowly. When she took it away her lips sparkled in the low light.

"I'm fooling!" Emma said. "That's not really your present. That's for later, and it's real. I thought this birthday, out of respect for your old age, I'd get my prank done early."

"I appreciate that, baby sister," Aaron said. Emma's lips shone with the succulence of a ripe, red plum.

"Now let's have some more gougere!" she said. They finished off the tray of flaky cheese balls between sips of the cool white wine.

"I need to get back to the kitchen," Emma said, when an orange film on the tray was all that was left of the gougere. "Care to join me?"

"Of course," Aaron said. "That's where all the great smells are. And your company, of course."

Aaron followed Emma into the kitchen, trying with limited success to stop his eyes from straying to her ass. If it was warm in the living room, it was hot in the kitchen, and humid too, from the cooking. Emma lifted a lid off a large pot and beckoned Aaron to see what was in it. A thick, orangey-pink broth bubbled inside. A scent of the sea wafted to his nose. Emma turned the heat down.

"What's that?" Aaron asked.

"Lobster bisque. You do like lobster, right?"

"I love it. Wow. That smells amazing."

"It's going to taste even better," Emma said, grinning. "It will be ready soon." Aaron watched Emma chop some vegetables and move pots around. She opened the oven to check something inside, and another burst of steam came forth. Emma peered into the oven, legs straight, bending at the waist, and the skirt rode far up her thighs, until a hint of pink panty showed itself again. Aaron, behind his sister, stared, intoxicated by the sight of his sister, the heat, and the swirl of smells in the small kitchen.

Emma unbent, stood up, twirled, and went back to preparing the food, seemingly unaware of the show she was putting on or her brother's inability to look away from her. Aaron noted the speed and efficiency with which Emma moved around her kitchen.

She stopped moving, took a sip of wine from her glass, and stared back at Aaron. The expression on her face, playful a moment ago, was suddenly serious, almost worried. Aaron was startled at the change in her.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Emma bit her lip and did not answer immediately.

"I'm not sure," she said. "There is something. I'd like your help, but I feel funny about asking."

Aaron was struck by the change in her tone. Emma seemed worried.

"Emma," he said. "You shouldn't feel funny. I'm your brother. You can tell my anything."

Emma did not respond at first. She looked at the floor, instead. Then she looked at Aaron.

"The other day, I was . . . I was feeling myself. My boobs. I felt something." Emma stopped talking and looked away from her brother to the kitchen wall.

"What . . . what did you feel?" Aaron asked. He waited, silent, for her to respond. He heard his heart pound while he waited.

"I don't know," Emma continued. "I thought I felt a lump. I wasn't sure. I called my doctor and set up an appointment, but it's a week from now. I'm kind of, like, freaking out."

Aaron took a step closer to his sister.

"Oh, Emma," he said. "I'm sorry. It's probably nothing. But I'm sure the doctor can confirm that for you. I'm sorry it's troubling you."

"I know," Emma said. "I might be worried about nothing. But I've got seven days to wait and it's driving me kind of crazy. I was wondering . . . "

Emma looked off to the side and back to her brother, and off to the side again.

"What?" Aaron asked.

Emma looked away from the kitchen wall to her brother's eyes.

"I was wondering," she said, pausing, "If you could help me know if there's something there. I don't want to wait another seven days."

Aaron saw the worry in Emma's face.

"I'm just an intern, Emma," Aaron said. "It's not my specialty. Your doctor will give you a better opinion than I can."

"I know," Emma said. "But I trust you. I know how smart you are, big brother. Can you just do this for me? Please?"

Emma's eyes stared straight and unblinking into Aaron's. It was a strange request, and his mind juggled the ethical implications of it, but with those eyes wide and open and bearing down on his he knew he could not say "no."

"O.K.," he said. "I guess. What do you want me to do?"