Page 120 of When Love Takes Root

“Do I look like I can’t be trusted with a knife?”

I looked at her mouth for half a second before turning back to the cutting board. “Tonight? No.”

She stared at me.

I picked up the knife and chopped parsley. “Lemons, Ms. Coleman.”

She laughed under her breath and took the bowl. “You think you slick.”

“I think you’re hungry.”

“I think you’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“Me with a knife, apparently.”

“No. You standing in my kitchen looking like that.”

Her hands stilled around a lemon.

I kept chopping.

She cleared her throat. “Lemons, you said?”

“Lemons.”

She squeezed lemons and stole a potato from the pan when she thought I wasn’t watching. I slid the seasoning closer before she asked for it. She rinsed green beans, shook water from her fingers into the sink, and fussed because I wouldn’t let her lift the heavy skillet.

“I’ve lifted children, chairs, laundry baskets, bulk shampoo boxes, and one grown client who fainted during a silk press. I can lift a skillet.”

I took the pan from the stove. “I believe you.”

“And yet.”

“And yet I’m standing right here.”

She leaned against the counter, trying not to smile. “You know what? Fine. Be useful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She opened the refrigerator for the creamer and froze. The door stayed open while she looked from the juice boxes to the fruit snacks to the variety chips stacked like evidence on the shelf.

“Josiah.”

I wiped my hands on a towel. “Yes?”

“Why do you have enough snacks in here to survive Vacation Bible School?”

“They might come over one day.”

“They might?”

“They might.”

She turned slowly, holding the creamer in one hand. “You bought snacks for my kids?”

“I bought preparation.” Her mouth softened before she could hide it. I closed the refrigerator door gently. “Not as a burden. As part of you.”