I looked over at his finished salmon roll while I tried to make my own behave. “You must be a great visual learner because that looks pretty legit.”
“I guess.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “It just takes some practice. Do you like to cook?”
“Not really. Zoey meal preps, so I pitch in on the groceries, and she makes enough for me, too. Sometimes I help her with the easier dishes. It’s been a busy few weeks, so I haven’t had time for much other than takeout.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, glancing over at me. “A lot of school work?”
“Yes. And I’ve also started volunteering.”
“That’s great. Where?”
“Um…” Suddenly, I felt awkward. My decision to volunteer at the clinic had largely been inspired by the conversation we had at the beach. I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye. “It’s one of the methadone clinics downtown.”
He stopped folding his second roll halfway through. “Really?”
“Yeah. I wanted to learn more about it and see how I can help out.”
When he didn’t say anything right away, I turned to look at him. He was studying me, his eyes clear and thoughtful. “That’s wonderful, Ivy. How’s it going so far?”
“It can be tough,” I admitted as I went back to trying to get my seaweed to stick together. “People from all walks of life come to the clinic. Their stories are so different, but also similar in many ways. There’s a lot of pain, a lot of trauma, and a lot of failure by the system.”
Jamie hummed in agreement. “Doesn’t it make you want to change things?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It does.” In truth, I’d felt more energized in my school work than ever since I’d started volunteering. There was a purpose to it now.
Jamie sliced his roll and placed eight perfect pieces on a flat wooden tray. He swiped his forehead with the back of his hand and looked at the mess in front of me. I had a roll, but it was bursting at the seams. The seaweed had begun to tear.
The bastard laughed. “Do you want some help?”
I sighed and stepped aside. “This is harder than it looks.”
“Let’s see.” He took out a piece of cucumber and wrangled my roll easily with his long, elegant fingers. My thoughts immediately went to how those fingers had felt inside of me.
“Here,” he said, “Try to cut it now.”
I came closer, my arm brushing against his. “It’ll come apart from the pressure.”
“It won’t. The knife is extremely sharp. It’ll slice right through it.” He handed me the blade and turned his body toward me. “We can do it together, if you’d like.”
“Okay.”
He wrapped his hand around mine. We were so close that I could smell that fresh-laundry scent on him again. My side molded against his chest, and his left palm landed on the small of my back, pressing gently, so gently, while his right hand guided the knife in my hand.
The blade cut through the roll without a hint of resistance. “Like butter,” I murmured, feeling like butter myself as my insides melted from the heat radiating off his skin.
Slice. Slice. Slice. Slice.
I placed the knife down, but he kept his hand on mine. Moving my gaze from the counter, I met his thoughtful gray eyes and watched as he drew his teeth over his lower lip. It glistened in the aftermath, and I wanted to kiss him. Badly.
He turned me until my front was pressed against his and dragged his right hand up my arm to cup the back of my neck. A shiver of anticipation ran all the way from my nape to my heels.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked in a hoarse voice, and I knew in that moment that despite being ten years older, something about this was making him just as nervous as it was making me.
“Yes,” I breathed, tilting my head back in invitation.
His lips were warm and soft and familiar in their eagerness. He was a skillful kisser. I could’ve acknowledged that even after that very first dressing-room kiss. For a long time, I’d been ashamed of the feelings that encounter had unearthed in me. The momentary pang of desire for a stranger that had accosted me without an invitation. Now, I felt that shame leave my body with every swipe of his hot tongue.
He pulled away and cupped my cheek, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. I leaned into his touch, my chest rapidly rising and falling between us. He glanced down at the low V of my dress, lingered on the exposed skin for a moment, and let out a long breath.
