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I laugh. “How about some grilled chicken with mashed potatoes, roasted brussels sprouts, and a salad with carrots?”
She nods and then starts opening drawers, pulling out a tiny knife and a cutting board. I take a seat at a bar stool opposite her.
I hold back a laugh as she pulls out the carrots and begins attempting to chop them without peeling off the skin. Each chop requires the full force of her knife in order to make a slice in the carrot.
I laugh. I can’t help it.
I get up and walk behind her, placing my hands on hers. “First, you need to peel the carrots.”
I reach into the drawer next to her and pull out a peeler. I replace the knife in her hand with the peeler. My hands stay on her hands as I show her how to move the peeler down the carrot. I feel her suck in a breath as I move my head next to hers under the pretext of looking at the carrot.
I reach back into the drawer and pull out a chef’s knife. I take the peeler out of her hand and replace it with the knife.
“Then, you can cut the carrot into pieces.” My hand glides over hers as I show her how to properly cut it. I can feel her pulse beating faster in her wrist.
I take a step back and let her continue by herself. She takes a deep breath as she adjusts to the emptiness.
“So, what is your grand plan for Lily now?” I ask, leaning on the bar behind her so that I can stare at her body without her judging eyes.
“Um…what?”
I grin. She can act like I don’t affect her at all, but it’s a lie.
“Nothing,” I say, happy not to talk about work right now. It will only make me angry, remembering exactly what she did to me. “You should probably start on the chicken if you want to eat tonight.”
She gives me a dirty look over her shoulder.
“Do you want some help?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“No.”
She takes the chicken and plops it into a grill pan before putting it on the stove and turning the stove on high.
She walks back over to her cutting board, and after pulling the brussels sprouts out, she cluelessly stares at them.
She takes her knife and chops down hard. The brussels sprout goes flying away from her.
I chuckle.
“I don’t like brussels sprouts anyway. Let’s just stick to everything else.”
I grin and nod while I resist helping her again.
She takes the potatoes, puts them into a pot, covers them with water, and then places it on the stove.
I snicker.
“What?”
“It’s going to take hours to boil the potatoes if you don’t cut them up first.”
“I knew that.”
She takes the pot back over to the counter. She pulls the soaking wet potatoes out of the pot and places one on the chopping board. She starts cutting and chops it into tiny pieces.
I shake my head. She’s one of the smartest, strongest women I’ve ever met. How does she not have a clue as to how to cook?
I walk behind her again, and she freezes, already anticipating my touch.
