“Oh, shut up and start chopping.”
My nose twitched at her words.
I watched her for a moment. Studied the way she moved and did things. Usually, she always tormented me in the kitchen with pickles or shoving her finger up my ass. I wasn’t sure what in the hell kind of sick pleasure she got from that, but I guarded my asshole around her like crazy. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, which was this thing that she did whenever she actually concentrated on something. And as she scooped out flour onto the surface of the kitchen countertop, I realized she was serious.
The woman was actually going to make some fucking noodles herself.
I knew never to argue with Anna. When she put herself to task, it was best to just get out of her way. So I opened the fridge and bent down. I looked all around, shoving shit out of the way to get to the fresh vegetables that somehow were shoved toward the back of the refrigerator.
Fucking hell, if these things were ruined from being too cold…
I pulled out a sleeve of bell peppers and a bag of spinach. Some carrots and a bit of celery. We had an eggplant we didn’t chop into yet, so I grabbed that as well.
“You got the salt over there with you?” I asked.
“Yep,” Anna said as I heard her cracking an egg.
“Good,” I muttered as I reached for a few more vegetables that we had to eat up.
I pulled out a chopping block before tossing all of the vegetables onto the kitchen countertop next to Anna. We stood there, side by side, while she used her hands to mix up the flour and egg concoction she created on the counter. I pulled out aknife from the knife block, testing the blade on the eggplant to see how sharp it was. And when I cut the eggplant into strips, I reached my hand out.
“Salt,” I said.
To which I got… the actual salt.
Instead of snark.
Instead of a finger wiggling up my asshole.
Instead of fucking pickle breath.
“There,” Anna said.
I slowly peered over at her. “That’s it?”
“Hmmm?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with Anna?”
“Sh, I’m concentrating.”
I rolled my eyes before I coated the strips of eggplant with salt.
“Gonna season it with anything else?” she asked.
“Not seasoning,” I said. “Eggplant is slimy when cooked if you don’t draw the moisture out.”
“Ooooooh. I didn’t know that about eggplant. Never had it.”
“Not a common vegetable to be had, but it’s good for you.”
“I know what else is good for me.”
I groaned. “If you say pickles?—”
She cackled with delight, and I couldn’t help but allow the smallest smirk to cross my cheeks.
“So predictable,” I muttered.
