away from me. But I can’t. The words won’t budge.
I slide off the countertop and move to stand beside him as he hands me a big knife that I don’t think he would have given me if he knew how few times I’ve held it before. That fact is clear, though, when I grab hold of the slippery potato and inch the blade through it. Nice and slow. That’s it. Easy does it. ANNNNND one cut complete!
The knife makes a sound when the blade connects with the cutting board, and I smile, feeling like someone should give me a gold medal. Maybe Top Chef is still taking auditions?
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ryan’s less-than-enthusiastic voice has my head jerking up to look at him.
“What? I did it! Look at that solid cut!”
“I turned a million years old in the process.”
Someone likes to exaggerate. “Is speed always your top priority?” I give him a taunting, flirtatious look, but he doesn’t take the bait. Still, I see the corner of his mouth twitching. I want to kiss it.
“How do you not know how to use a knife?”
I shrug. “I work with dough all day. Very rarely do I have to use something sharp.”
“Okay, well today, you learn.” The authority in his voice is doing nothing to lessen his attractiveness.
I’m ready for Ryan to move in close behind me and pick up the knife so he can teach me how to use it. He’ll keep his body pressed up next to mine, and his breath will tickle my ear as he shows me how to properly slice a potato. His calloused hand will cover mine, and my whole body will break out in chills from his touch. It will be the sexiest cooking lesson in the world, and we will fog up the windows in my house when he kisses my neck, knife lesson forgotten. He’ll probably spin me around and carry me to the couch and—
“June!” He’s waving his hand in front of my face, and I blink. “Where’d you go?”
My cheeks flush, and if he notices, he doesn’t comment. He’s too engrossed in my impending lesson—all business. He holds up his knife and nods for me to do the same. Super. I guess I really am getting a lesson in knife work with a gap so wide between our bodies I’d have to stretch just to get our elbows to touch. How sexy.
For the next ten minutes, Ryan drones on and on about how the knife should never leave the cutting board, and the blade should rock back and forth, letting me move through the potato faster. Honestly, I’m bored to tears. I couldn’t care less about this dang blade. This is nothing like when we were making donuts side by side. Instead, Ryan’s brows furrow, and he’s serious—joyless.
I pause my practice and look up at him. “You know, I had no idea that you even liked to cook—back in high school, I mean,” I say, interrupting his monologue on the various techniques of rocking the blade at different angles.
He freezes, and I see something flash across his eyes. “No? Huh.”
“You never mentioned it. Not once.”
His attention is back on his work. “Not exactly surprising. We never talked back then unless we were trying to annoy each other.” He’s right. And now that breaks my heart. So many wasted years.
“Well, tell me now then.” I lean my hip against the counter and look up at him. “When did you get into it?”
“June, we have a lot to get done. Let’s just focus on getting the dinner made before we have to get ready for the rehearsal.”
Oh, I see. He expects me to open up about my life, but he gets to keep all his secrets inside? I don’t think so.
“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding close to amusement.
“I’M...CARRYING…YOU…INTO…THE…SHOWER!” I say with my arms wrapped around Ryan’s gigantic body, using all of my strength to try to lift him off the ground. Someone please call Superman. He’s the only one who can get this job done. Ryan is clearly made of lead. “Make yourself lighter!”
He laughs, turns around, and picks me up by my armpits, setting me back onto my perch on the counter (apparently, I wasn’t that much help in the slicing department). I find it ridiculously unfair that he can just move me around like a rag doll, and I can’t even push him an inch.
But I’m not so easily deterred. I reach for the sink sprayer and