He holds up another, and then another, but to no avail. “You have to be fucking with me, right?”
“Unfortunately not,” Eden teases. “Good thing you’re cute.”
She sidles up next to him, her arm brushing up against his. It’s ridiculous how much Alexander likes her hands. They’re small and cute, fingers slender and elegant. When she leans over to adjust the pilot screw, Alexander catches a glimpse at the bare skin of the nape of her neck. He has to fight the urge not to reach out and brush her hair to the side.
It’s just that being near her does something to him, something he can’t even begin to comprehend. Any sense of self-control goes straight out the window whenever Eden is near. It’s an overwhelming feeling that he constantly has to keep in check because there’s nothing he wants more than to have her lips on his.
He finds himself just behind her, one hand on either side of her on the stove edge. Eden works in the space between his arms, either unaware or perfectly content with his proximity.
When she’s finished, she replaces the parts and turns the stove on to test. A low, gentle flame ignites, the issue officially rectified. Eden shuts it off just as quickly, satisfied with her job well done.
“There, as good as—”
She turns, her sentence fading into nothing. She licks her lips, watching Alexander with an intense intrigue. They’ve drawn together like magnets.
He really wants her. She really wants him.
Alexander just might break his own rules. Just for her.
She whispers, “We should really...”
“What?” he whispers, just as soft.
“What, um...” Eden swallows, breathless.
Alexander takes a deep breath, soaking in the warmth of her body. His blood is on fire, and his heart is about to leap out of his chest. He adores how her cheeks have turned a light shade of pink, or the way her plump lips part in anticipation, or how her pupils are blown wide.
She drives him fucking wild.
“What were you going to teach me today?” she asks, finally mustering up enough courage to find her voice.
Ah, right. Back to business.
Alexander straightens his back and steps away. “Knife skills,” he says, very much hating how gravelly his voice sounds. “Let’s put your new set to work.”
“I know my way around a knife.”
“You do. But today, we’re going to practice precision. Tell me, what’s the difference between fine brunoise cut and a batonnet?”
Eden blanks. “I’m pretty sure those are just words you’ve made up.”
“How exactly did you learn to cook?”
“By watching, mostly. TV shows and stuff. I know, it’s kind of lame.”
“No, it’s actually quite impressive.”
“It is?”
“You’ve picked up a lot of the beginner and intermediate techniques. It also helps that you have an amazing palate. Now it’s time to get specific.” Alexander tilts his head toward the walk-in. “There’s a bin of vegetables that I set aside for you. They were about to expire, anyways, so you might as well use them to practice. Go grab them and come back.”
Eden nods, her knowing grin sending sparks shooting up his spine. When she returns with the bin, she opens up her knife rolls. Alexander brings out his knives, too, preparing to demonstrate. A good teacher should be hands on, after all. Eden picks up her santoku, while Alexander opts for his chef’s knife.
“I’ve been meaning to introduce you to Springsteen,” she says, brimming with pride.
“You named it?”
“I named it,” Eden confirms.
