Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,32

stop laughing, little man.”

“Na-uh.”

Lachlan grumbled as I took over onion-duty. “Sure, I’ll stuff you in a stew. Tuck you in a pot and turn up the heat.”

“You wouldn’t eat me!”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He broke off a chunk of garlic in his hands. “You’re too scrawny, and I got a big appetite.” He stared at me, a hungry smile growing. “You can have the spaghetti. I’ll eat Elle.”

“You’re so bad.” I aimed our onion-shredder at him. “Don’t start.”

“Start what? I just want a little nibble.”

“Don’t.”

“Just a taste.”

“Hush.”

“How about if I give you a little lick?”

Sebastian shouted, leaping over the counter. “Run, Elle! Before he eats you!”

Lachlan loved the chase. He growled and dove for me. The onion made a terrible weapon, and I didn’t have a chance to bolt. Sebastian shouted for me to follow him into the living room.

I didn’t make it.

Lachlan was very quick when an opportunity to eat presented itself.

He grabbed me before I darted from the kitchen and captured me in his arms. Strong arms. Arms that pinned me against his chest, so close I could only stare into his brilliantly green eyes.

“Got you.” He whispered. “And I’ll devour you whole.”

I clocked him with the onion, but he didn’t let me go.

“Do you surrender, or do I have to start nibbling?”

My breath trapped in my chest. I didn’t answer. Sebastian scuffed his way back to the room, covering his eyes.

“Gross! You’re gonna kiss her!”

Among other things if I gave him a chance. I pushed away, but Lachlan leapt for Sebastian instead.

“Not if I kiss you first!”

Both boys screamed and tore through the house, leaving me with a fork, an onion, and absolutely no plan as to how I was going to cook a dinner without proper utensils.

I held the onion with a tea-towel as Lachlan chased Sebastian through the kitchen three times, circling the island before launching into the living room, crashing into the couch, and knocking over a table.

Lachlan called for a truce, Sebastian tossed a pillow, and the war was on.

Lachlan grabbed the kid and carried him, struggling, onto the patio and toward the pool. Sebastian shouted Uncle from the edge of Lachlan’s diving board.

I’d managed to pulverize half of the onion, sawing through the rings with the tines of the fork and crisscrossing enough pulp out to make a serviceable sauce.

The boys returned as I stared at the garlic. Lachlan peeked over my shoulder, close enough to kiss. He didn’t.

I think I was disappointed.

“This has to be minced,” I said. “Any ideas?”

Lachlan motioned for me to wait and hurried off through the house, Sebastian in tow. He returned with a razor from his bathroom.

“Seriously?” I said.

“It’s clean. I changed the blade.”

“Oh, good. Otherwise this would be weird.” I aimed the razor at the bulb of garlic, meticulously skinned thanks to time, patience, and fingernails. The razor peeled off the garlic in thin strips, and I shrugged. “This will work. What’s next?”

Lachlan found a pot and set it on the stove. He lit the pilot and cranked the heat. “Oil in the pot.”

“Have any?”

“Plenty.”

“Not baby oil.”

“Oh. Then I’m not sure.” He rooted through the pantry and found a bottle of olive oil. “Aha.”

I indulged his grin and watched as he uncapped the bottle, danced with the container to the stove, tilted it with a flourish—

And promptly poured the oil over the stove top instead of in the pot.

“Whoops.” Lachlan nearly dropped the bottle. “Get a towel?”

I sighed. “You’re like a mini-tornado in the kitchen, you know that?”

I handed him a towel, and he sopped up the mess. “But you think it’s cute.”

“Yep. You’re like a helpless little puppy.”

“But you like puppies.”

“I like dinner more.”

“I promised you food, we’re getting food—”

Lachlan turned away from the stove just long enough for Sebastian to shout. The oil soaked towel rested over the gas-lit burner and immediately singed, blackened, and then pop! Erupted into flame.

“Whoa!” I nearly dropped the shredded onions and garlic. “Lachlan!”

Sebastian’s fire safety lessons kicked in. He shouted from the middle of the kitchen. “Get out quick before the smoke gets thick!”

Lachlan grimaced. “Sit, Bast. I’ve got it.”

He really didn’t. I backed away as he flipped off the stove and beat at the rag with a second towel—which also promptly licked the flames and singed.

“Smother it!” I said. “It’s got oil on it!”

“A fire that is small is soon to be tall!”

Lachlan grabbed a pair of tongs from the drawer, picked up the burning rags, and rushed around the kitchen searching for an