His jaw flexed as he saw her, and she froze midway onto one of the island stools, caught like a deer in the headlights.
“Hey,” he said and set his tools down, wiping his hands on his apron and turning to face her.
She gingerly ran her fingers down her nose, chastened now that he was looking at her. She was a mess. She’d had a shower, looked at the blossoming black eyes in the mirror, the white tape an angry stripe across her face. Reminded of Jake and the ping-pong of a day they’d had, she realized she’d lashed out once again, storming away from him the moment they’d driven into the garage. She owed him another apology, and her original intent was to find her mom to ask how in hell she should.
Well, here he is, just do it,she thought, and squared her shoulders.
“Hi,” she replied. “I don’t want to mess with your flow, but I—”
“How are you feeling?” he asked, interrupting her.
“I—” she started again, determined to get it out. “I’m fine. Look. I’m sorry for my mood this evening. Again.”
He blinked and pulled a pepper from the bag of vegetables beside him. He paused as he picked up the knife. She could see his gears turning, and hoped he wouldn’t rebuff her. It was bad enough he’d seen her storm off in a huff more than once. She hated that part of her temper. She wanted him to like her, and her behavior was not helping.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“No,” she said. He was back to being nice, giving. Truly, she’d been an ass today.
“Come help me cook.”
She eyeballed his knife, hesitant. Cook?
He beckoned her around the counter and then handed her the pepper and the knife. “Can you slice a few of these into thin strips? I’ll start the tortilla.”
She looked down at the pepper, the green skin shiny in the kitchen lighting. She set it on the cutting board and then tilted the massive knife in her hand, the blade polished to a sheen. For the first time in her life, she was intimidated about slicing vegetables.
“It’s just a pepper, Liz. It isn’t poison. You do eat vegetables from time to time, right? It isn’t all beef and bread?” he said, humor evident in his voice. She looked at him, twisting her lips, and sighed.
“Ha-ha. Very funny. No, it’s just I’ve never cut a pepper with such a massive knife. How—”
Before she could finish her sentence, he slid up behind her, grabbed her hands, and gently fixed her grip on the knife. His other hand adjusted her grip on the pepper like he’d done it a thousand times. The heat from his body instantly flooded hers and she leaned back, letting her shoulders touch his broad, firm chest. He took her cue, and pulled himself closer, their bodies touching against the counter.
Holy hell, that felt good. All thoughts of her bruised face and pride faded to nothing.
“Now, if you hold the pepper this way and slice it sideways first, you can pull out the seeds. Use the back of the knife to the front, slice down, and away,” he rumbled in her ear, sending shockwaves down and through her stomach in time with the knife.
His forearms tensed as he moved her hands for her, and she followed the motion, letting him lead, her stomach fluttering again. The blade slid through the pepper with a fresh crunch, and the two sides fell away from each other. He carefully sliced one side into slivers, and she relaxed her muscles as his arms brushed hers, the movement of his body behind her rendering her breathless until he had finished.
“You teach a lot of people how to cut vegetables like this?” she asked weakly, the grip he had on her knife hand softening as he finished.
He cleared his throat and chuckled low in her ear. “A few, yes. Knife skills are one of the most important kitchen tools you can have.”
She slid her hands out of his grip and peeled the seed core out of the other half of the pepper, conscious of his body still behind her He didn’t move away, his hands traveling up her arms, his head dipping toward the crook of her neck, a soft, rumbling groan meeting her ear. If he kept going . . .
She turned, her back pressing into the edge of the counter. Pepper in her hand, she looked up at him with intent, the instinct to kiss him so strong she might not be able to stop if—
The heat in his eyes surprised her as he braced his hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in.Well, now. That changed her thoughts on the matter completely. Her eyes darted to his lips, then back to his eyes, and another deep groan made its way from his chest.That was incredibly hot.
“Any other tips?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow, emboldened by how close he was and the hungry way he was taking her in. If she was going to explore this, she might as well go whole hog.
But as she leaned toward him, he cleared his throat, his hands flexing as he pulled them away. “I think you have it.”
A wave of disappointment hit her as he turned to a cupboard, pulling out the flour canister. She finished cutting the pepper, then sliced another one from the bag beside her, before she spoke. That should have ended with them kissing. She wanted it to end with him kissing her, damn it.
“So, you make tortillas?” she finally said, wanting to break the awkward silence that was punctuated by the crunch of her knife and thetingof utensils hitting the side of his metal mixing bowl as he added various ingredients. He hummed anuh-huhand turned his head to her as he tipped water and lard into the mixture, not even measuring.
“Once you learn to make tortillas, you’ll never, ever go back to store bought. I guarantee it. Doesn’t Rosy make her own?” he said.
