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“Bitch,” Astrid muttered.
“Love you too!”
We peeled the shrimp and chopped the vegetables. Astrid did fine quartering one onion, but dicing the other proved more difficult for her.
I slipped in behind her and reached around to grasp her hands with mine. “Like this.”
With careful precision, I sliced the onion with the knife. Her teasing warmth threatened to distract me—to fall into the beat of the music with her.
“That is easier,” she murmured.
Onion diced, I grabbed the bell pepper and worked on that with her, too, falling into a comfortable rhythm.
Astrid giggled. “What are your hips doing?”
“Whoa, should I go to my room?” Aya called out.
“Shut up, Aya,” Astrid and I both yelled.
“Killjoys.”
We chuckled, and I didn’t stop the motions the music swept me up into.
“Seriously, what are you doing?” Astrid asked.
“Dancing, of course.”
She shook her head. “You’ve got a knife. That’s dangerous.”
“Live on the edge a little, take a risk.”
Astrid grunted. “Says the motocross racer who likes to do crazy tricks he sees on TV.”
I set the knife down and pulled her back by the hips. “Yes, says me.”
She fell into step, knowing the dances. She grew up alongside me, sharing in my family’s food, music, and culture. I may have grown up here, but my father made sure I’d never forget where we came from. And occasional visits to family didn’t hurt, either.
I’d bring her there someday, and show her the sights and culture firsthand. And hopefully, introduce her to the family as mine.
I took Astrid’s hand and spun her slowly. She giggled, and I caught the kitchen lights flickering.This again?
Pulling her close, I dipped her low. She gasped and threw her arms around my neck. That only pulled her closer to me. I grinned, noticing the flush on her pretty face. “What, do you not trust me?”
She opened her mouth, and then shrieked when something crashed to the floor. I instinctively pulled her flush against me and jumped back.
We stared at the two knives that’d somehow fallen off the counter.
Aya’s feet thundered down the stairs, and she appeared in the kitchen. “You two okay?”
“Yeah,” I slowly released my hold on Astrid. “Just dodging flying knives. Pretty sure the house ghosts are dance critics.”
She grunted. “Then maybe you should turn the dial down on the magnetism between the two of you.”
Astrid smacked her forehead, and I shook my head. “That was a terrible one, even by your standards.”
Aya only grinned, as if pleased with herself, then decided to move her work down to where we were. Astrid and I cleaned up the strange mess and fell back into cooking.
Though a part of me couldn’t stop thinking about the flickering lights and the knives.Call me superstitious, but something strange is going on.
