I let that hang for a second. Then nodded toward the kitchen. Then met her eyes.
“What if I show you how to make it?”
“Isn’t that the one you have to stir constantly?”
“You stir gently. With care. Like listening.”
“I don’t listen gently.”
“Then I’ll teach you to chop.”
“Do we have everything we need?”
“Everything. We’re set.”
“Okay. Let me hang my coat up and change. Don’t start without me,” she said over her shoulder as she walked to her room.
Cooking, with Claire.
I took a deep breath and started gathering the ingredients.
She came back into the kitchen and grabbed one of the aprons I had in the drawer. I had to admit it was cute her thinking an apron would make her more suited to cooking.
She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t start yet, did you?”
“No, I wouldn’t dare.” I laughed. “Especially since I’m about to hand you a very sharp knife.”
She looked at me with one eyebrow raised.
“Lesson one is knowing how to chop,” I explained.
She gripped the handle like it might fight back. “If I lose a finger, I’m billing you.”
“Fair.”
I moved behind her, guiding her grip, adjusting the blade. I shouldn’t have been that close. Not with her back warm against my chest and her breath catching just slightly when my hand moved to steady hers.
But I did.
She didn’t move away.
For a second, we were both still.
I looked down, her head just below my chin, her hair tucked behind one ear. She smelled like soap and something woodsy and creamy. I wanted to close my eyes and just breathe for a second.
This would be a perfect time to kiss her.
I froze.
It wasn’t part of the plan. This arrangement was supposed to be temporary. Practical.
But I was still too close, and she hadn’t pulled back, and suddenly the kitchen felt a degree too warm.
She turned her head slightly, like she was going to ask me something, and for one sharp second, I thought she might turn all the way, toward me.
Instead, she cleared her throat. “Is this the part where you lecture me about knife angles?”
I stepped back a beat too fast. Too obvious.
