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“You are awfully peppy today.”
I grinned. “Thank you. I think it’s my new dress.”
Max scratched his stubble. “It’s a lovely dress.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets, stuck them out as far as the skirt would allow, and rocked my hips from side to side in a fancy sway. “Thanks. It haspockets.”
“That’s why I said it.”
“Such a gentleman complimenting a dress you probably don’t even care about just so I can show off the pockets.”
“I’d care a lot more about it if it were on my bedroom floor.”
“And there’s your inner fuckboy.”
He dropped his chin to his chest, and his upper body shook with a deep, rumbling laugh. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been called a fuckboy before.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” I took out the new potatoes and shoved the bag in his direction. “Cut these, please.”
He took the bag, letting his laugh slowly peter out. “How would you like them cut?”
“Small. But not too small. In quarters, maybe. Six bits depending on the size.”
Max blinked at me. If he was half as confused as he looked, he had absolutely no bloody idea what I was asking him to do.
Hm.
Maybe letting him do the potatoes wasn’t a smart idea after all.
“I’ll do those,” I said, taking the bag back. “Can you do green beans?”
“I suppose it depends how many pieces you’d like them cut into.”
“Har-har,” I drawled, handing him the beans. “Just cut off the ends and slice them into about three.”
“Are you sure?”
“I will slice you into three if you’re going to keep that up.”
“I’ll just take that.” Max leant over and picked up the knife block, then made a point by carrying it to the other side of the kitchen.
Drama queen.
I held up the potatoes. “Am I supposed to cut these with a spoon?”
“You could try, but I don’t think you’d get very far.”
“May I please have a knife?”
“I’m not sure I trust you with one. Despite your peppiness, you’re also quite morbid this evening, and I’d prefer you not make use of that island.”
I stared at him. “What if I solemnly swear not to use a kitchen knife to give you heart surgery on the island?”
“It might help.”
“Then I promise not to give you heart surgery. Or an autopsy.”
Max slid a large knife from the block, paused, and looked over at me. “An autopsy?”
