Page 26 of Abdominal Snowman

Skies, he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

* * *

“You make your own shells?” Sage’s voice echoed around the kitchen as Soren laid out all the ingredients for tacos.

“Why not?” he asked. He glanced over his shoulder and raised a brow at her. “I enjoy the process of making my own tacos. The recipe is really simple, and it’s more fun.”

Sage sipped her beer, and Soren felt her gaze on him. What was going through her mind?

Soren finished mixing his ingredients together under her stare, slathering oil onto the heated pan on the stove. Taking a small blob of dough, Soren molded it into a circle between his palms effortlessly, more than a little excited to show off. It had been years since he’d cooked with anyone.

Once the dough was flattened, he flopped it between his palms before tossing it onto the pan. The sizzling filled the kitchen, and Soren finally turned his attention back toward Sage. She grinned at him, her mouth meeting the slim bottle of Modelo as she took a sip.

“What?” he asked, a soft bloom of red spreading across his cheeks.

“Can I help?” Sage inquired, setting her bottle down and leaning over the counter.

“Oh! Yes, of course. Um, why don’t you chop up the cilantro? If you’d like. I think that’s the only thing left.” Soren waved his hand toward the various ingredients behind him on the counter, knife and cutting board meticulously placed beside them. “That would be great. And I can focus on this,” he added. He’d already cooked the chicken, spiced to perfection and kept warm in the oven. Lettuce, tomato, and corn salsa were already prepared, so those were lined up neatly in bowls on the island.

Soren refocused on the pan in front of him, flipping the tortillas with just the tips of his fingers. It required precision. Skill.

No, getting his skin so close to the heat wasn’t comfortable, but this was his favorite part.

Sage padded around the island, humming a soft tune. She slid the cutting board in front of her and grabbed the leafy bundle of cilantro, peeling off the paper towel Soren had wrapped it in.

“Did you know that some people have a gene that makes cilantro taste like soap?” she asked and grabbed a large knife to slice the green bundle into tiny scraps.

“Yeah, that must suck. Cilantro really pulls this dish together.” He reached toward the pan to flip the next tortilla, excited to impress Sage again.

“Ach, ooh, ah!” Soren hissed as he flung his hand to the side and the tortilla flopped out of his grip, landing half on and half off the pan. Shaking his burning hand off, he tapped the dough back into the center of the pan before turning back to Sage. Her lips were curled in a smile as she brazenly stared at him. He cleared his throat. “That one was hot. When you’re done chopping, could you mix the sour cream with some milk and then add the cilantro to it?”

“No lime juice?” she asked, pulling the requested ingredients to her side. She eyed them carefully.

“Oh, yeah. There’s some in the fridge.” Soren carefully pinched the last tortilla, tossing it into the waiting container. Steam rose from the fluffy dough.

The scrape of the whisk filled the kitchen as Sage added the tangy sour cream with the milk, and then tipped the cutting board until the cilantro piled into her mixture.

He prowled behind Sage as she stirred, reaching beside her to the salt well and sprinkling a pinch of it into her mixture. He couldn’t help but peek over her shoulder to eye the progress. As soon as everything was smooth, Sage held the whisk up and waved it at him. “Well? What do you think?”

Soren reached around her and gently circled her wrist with his fingers before lifting it higher. They were so close Soren could feel the heat coming off her.

Her question had been full of her attitude, but the gasp she let out was soft and innocent sounding. Fighting a smile, he tasted the mixture off the whisk and hummed before releasing her arm.

“Mm. Perfect. What a good sous chef you are.”

With her pounding pulse filling his ears, he stepped away and gave them both some space. “Do you need another beer?” Soren asked, nodding to her mostly empty bottle.

“Yes, please,” Sage choked out before clearing her throat.

It was titillating to know that she wasn’t totally unaware of him. It made his pulse want to race like hers, but he sucked in a deep breath of the cool fridge air and tried to talk himself down. For all he knew…

Annoyance laced through him as the conversation he’d overheard replayed in his mind. For all he knew, she had someone waiting for her at home. Why hadn’t he cleared that first before planning to keep her here?

The bottles were perfectly chilly against his palms, and he found comfort in it as he straightened his back and turned toward his guest.

She had moved, was at the sink now, rinsing her glass bottle before placing it in the drying rack.

“Who’s Dick?” he blurted. Shock at his lack of control made his steps falter, and as her head snapped to him, he winced.