Jacob Rochester, the owner of Sharp End, reminds Alexander of a crypt keeper. Hollow cheeks. Pale white skin. Sunken eyes and a scowl that scares him a little, and it takes a lot to scare a man like Alexander Chen, but Rochesterjust mightmake the cut.
Rochester smiles, but his impatience is made obvious in the strain of his voice. “See anything you like, dear?”
“Show her the Miyabi collection,” Alexander says.
Eden gawks at the knives Rochester dutifully sets out for her. There’s one of everything. A chef’s knife, a prep, a utility, a nakiri, a santoku, one for paring, one for boning, and one for bread. There’s also a sharpening steel to round it all off. They’re all very beautiful, made with a flowering Damascus finish and gorgeous black ash wood handles. Alexander has half a mind to buy a set for himself. The only reason he doesn’t is because his collection at home is massive enough as it is. If his knife collection grows any bigger, people might think he’s a serial killer.
He watches as her fingers curl around the handle of the chef’s knife. He’s mesmerized by the smile that stretches across her lips. The blade is sleek, perfect in her expert hold.
A flash of something old passes through his mind. Alexander can picture someone before him. A young woman in a Gagnon-Allard uniform, diligently practicing her cuts at a workstation.
What do you think of this, Shang?
Maybe it’s a memory, but it feels like a dream. Either way, the details are missing. The woman’s words linger, but not the sound of her voice or the details of her face.
He snaps back to reality and regards Eden slowly. “Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers. Her excitement is electric, practically crackling against his own skin.
It’s all he needs to hear.
Alexander turns to Rochester and nods. “Pack it up.”
“Which one, sir?”
“All of it.”
Eden’s eyes widen in horror. “No.”
“This isn’t up for debate.”
“Alexander, this one alone is three hundred dollars.”
“I’m well aware of tha—”
He stops short when he notices her eyes glossing over, red at the edges from the threat of tears. His heart sinks.
What the fuck did I do?
“What’s wrong?” he asks, stepping forward. “Eden?”
Eden shakes her head. “Sorry. I’ll pay you back.”
“I already said you don’t—”
“This is just overwhelming, okay? I’m not used to—” Eden presses her lips into a thin line, swallowing hard. She wipes at her eyes, refusing to let any traitorous tears fall.
“What?” Alexander presses.
“People don’t do stuff like this for me. Ever. So, it’s... It’s just a lot.”
Something akin to anger stirs in the pit of his stomach. “Ever? What, have your parents never given you a gift before?”
Eden pales, and he knows immediately that he’s messed up.
Touchy subject. Got it.
He scratches at the back of his neck, straining to find the right thing to say. He’s never been good with words, least of all comforting ones. “Look, you need these.”
