A grin spread across my face before I could stop it. “Yes, chef.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched again. “Come on, then. Before I change my mind.”
She turned and headed for the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door without looking back to see if I was following. I followed anyway. How could I not?
The kitchen was smaller than I expected. Clean, organized, every pot and pan in its place. She moved through it like she owned every square inch, grabbing an apron from a hook and tossing it in my direction.
“Put that on. Wash your hands. Then you’re on prep duty.”
I caught the apron and pulled it over my head, fumbling with the ties. She watched me struggle for about three seconds before letting out a sigh and stepping closer.
“Here.” Her fingers brushed against my waist as she took the strings and tied them behind my back. Quick, efficient, impersonal. But my heart kicked anyway.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Sink’s over there. Scrub up to your elbows.”
I did as I was told, letting the hot water run over my frozen hands until feeling returned to my fingers. When I turned around, she had a cutting board set up, a pile of vegetables waiting.
“Onions first,” she said. “Dice them small. You know how to dice?”
“I can figure it out.”
She handed me a knife, and our fingers touched for just a second. Her eyes met mine, then slid away.
I’d spent my whole life being the funny one. The guy who cracked jokes to get people to notice him. The middle kid who learned early that humor was the only way to make anyone pay attention.
But Allegra hadn’t laughed at my jokes. Hadn’t responded to my usual moves. She’d just made me soup while I was passed out on her counter, then stood watching me with those dark eyes like she could see straight through the bullshit to whatever was underneath.
Maybe that was why I couldn’t walk away.
Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe I’d just met the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and some part of me already knew it.
Either way, I was in danger of falling.
And I didn’t mind at all.
2
ALLEGRA
He was doing it wrong.
I watched Hux attempt to dice an onion, his massive hands gripping my second-best knife like he was trying to murder it. The pieces coming off the cutting board were uneven at best, chunks at worst. Nothing like the fine, consistent dice I needed for the soup base.
But he was trying so hard—brow furrowed in concentration, tongue caught between his teeth like a kid working on a homework assignment. Something about that expression made me hesitate to correct him. But finally, I had to speak up.
“You’re going to cut yourself,” I said, stepping closer. “Here. Hold it like this.”
I adjusted his grip on the knife, my fingers brushing against his knuckles. His hands were huge, rough, and still cold from the storm outside. When I looked up, he was watching my face instead of the blade.
“Like this?” He mimicked the motion I’d shown him, and this time the slice came off clean and even.
“Better. Keep the tip of the knife on the board and rock it. Let the blade do the work.”
He nodded, refocusing on the onion. I stepped back to my station at the stove, stirring the stock I’d started earlier. But I could feel him there, taking up space in my kitchen, and it was harder to ignore than I wanted to admit.
The firefighters had been in town for maybe two weeks. I’d noticed Hux from the first night they came into the roadhouse, a pack of loud, flannel-wearing mountain men who’d made Kameron’s eyes light up with dollar signs. Hard not to notice a man that size. He had to be at least six-three, with broad shoulders and the kind of build that made you think he could carry you out of a burning building without breaking a sweat.
