Deciding to ignore Rowan for now, I search for another skillet.
Easiest chicken you’ll ever make, the blogger claimed.Ready in thirty minutes.
Lies.
As I rummage, Ash washes his hands like he plans to help.
“Have you made this before?” Ash asks, coming up behind me when I set a new skillet on the stove.
“Not successfully.”
“You don’t want to put the chicken in a cold pan,” he says, catching me before I do just that. “Add your butter and heat it first.”
“I did that last time, and it caught on fire,” I admit, distracted because Ash is reaching around me. His chest brushes my back, and for the first time, he’s close enough I can smell him.
And he smellsgood—like the mountains before the first snowfall. What worries me is I don’t think that’s cologne.
It’s his magic.
“You just have to watch it,” he says. “As soon as it melts, sauté the onion and garlic. Once those are aromatic, you can add the chicken.”
I expect Ash to step back after he places the butter in the heating skillet, but he doesn’t.
Which would be okay—better than okay even…
If I couldn’t feel Rowan’s glare.
Chapter 8
Winter Magic and Investment Accounts
Isubtly shift away from Ash and gesture to the onion. “I should cut this up.”
“No need.” Ash spirits it over to the skillet. With a wave of his hand, it falls into the sizzling butter, perfectly chopped.
I laugh, a little breathless. “Now you’re just showing off.”
Ash stirs the skillet, apparently taking over. “I’m shamelessly trying to impress you.”
Though he says the words evenly, I sense the flirtatious undercurrent.
Oh goodness.
I look at Rowan over my shoulder, glaring at him now. He glares right back, flattening his tufts to the top of his head.
“Go,” I mouth, jerking my head toward the bird door.
Finally,finally, I win.
With a dramatic spread of his tiny wings, he flies outside.
Ash turns when he hears the rubber flap smacking the frame. “It looks like you were right. He left.”
Casually, I lean my back against the kitchen counter and watch him cook. “He doesn’t usually stay long.”
Ash looks pleased, like maybe a subconscious part of him senses the owl isn’t just an owl and he’s glad we’re finally alone. “This is ready for the chicken.”
“I didn’t mean to invite you over to cook for me.”
