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Merch nods sharply, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Did you still want to learn to cook?”
My heart thuds in my chest. A man likeMerchwants to learn to cook with me. It’s so out of character. It’s…sweet. I’d be an idiot to say no.
Turning, I hit the play button on the video and pick up my knife.
“Will you teach me to spin my knife like you did?”
Merch relaxes, turning and plucking his knife back up. “Yeah. But not right now. And not with a real knife.”
Boo. But I can live with it. Pouting, I frown as I follow the carrot-slicing instructions. Hey, I’m getting kind of good at this….
“Ouch!”
Merch drops his knife in an instant, his hands cupping mine.
“You okay, kid?” his voice has a thread of panic running through it. I roll my eyes. I’ve sliced a few layers of skin off the side of my thumb. It’s nothing.
“I’m fine. ‘Tis but a scratch.”
Merch’s eyes dart up to mine, but he doesn’t get the reference. Of course he doesn’t get the reference. Leading me to the sink, he washes my hand with infinite care. My heart thumps. I don’t remember my mother ever taking this much care when bandaging up my scrapes as a kid.
After patting it dry, Merch smears some cream from a first aid kit under his sink, wrapping it up with a Band-Aid. My breath catches as he lifts my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against the padding near the base of my thumb.
“No more chopping for you. I can do that part. You make the sauce.”
That’s a lot of trust for someone who made inediblepasta.
Merch stirs the chicken and vegetables, simmering in the sauce – which isn’t even gloopy – while I drain the noodles and set out the plates.
Following the instructions on the iPad, we plate up our meals, taking them to the table with a beer each. Merch picks up his fork, waggling his eyebrows at me.
“Ready?”
Grimacing, I clutch my fork in my fist. “It has to be better than my pasta attempt.”
Merch snorts. “Kid, anything would be better than your pasta attempt.”
My mouth falls open in outrage, but he has already scooped some noodles and stirfry onto his fork, carefully eyeing it. Quickly, I likewise scoop up and mouthful.
“No time like the present,” I offer cheerfully. Merch nods, opening his mouth and placing his fork inside. I swallow mine too, waiting for the gag of awfulness.
“It’s actually kinda good,” Merch says, sounding surprised. Kind of good? It’s really good.
“I like it. And we only had one accident.”
He glares at my covered thumb. I grin at him, rolling my eyes. God, he totally overreacted about it. It’s a tiny cut. It stopped bleeding almost as soon as we got it under the running water.
MERCH
“So, what did you do when you weren’t smoking weed and fake-rebelling over in Pinedale?”
Shelley shoots me an outraged glare at my words. “I was arealrebel.”
“Sureyou were.”
A pillow hits the side of my head before I can duck out of the way. I manage to dodge the second one, smirking at Shelley’s annoyed face.
“I’m here with you.”
