Page 35 of A Fine Line

Staring at his forearms, I slowly pulled one of the nearby barstools to me.

“I think watch.” Was I whispering?

“Suit yourself, but our time is limited though and I have things to do after this.”

No, he didn’t. I knew because I saw his Alexa reminder on the counter said an upcoming episode of Only Murders In TheBuilding was tonight and apparently he couldn’t miss it- judging by the fifty exclamation marks beside it.

My elbows propped up on the counter as I watched him dice and chop the mountain of veggies beside him, unphased. He tossed half of them into a separate bowl and reached for some kind of unlabeled sauce in a clear, squeezable container. Homemade, I would assume. Crew tilted the bottle over the bowl and swirled it on the edges, stopping to squint with a head tilt, then did it again with two more swirls.

“What was that?” I pointed to the half full bottle.

“What was what?”

“That.”

“It’s a jalapeno lime sauce with cilantro-”

“No, how much was that?”

Crew looked down to the bottle on his counter and back to the contents in his stainless steel mixing bowl. “I dunno,” he shrugged one shoulder. “Three swirls?”

“Swirls?” I choked out. “How do you know that’s enough? Or not too much?”

He looked from the bowl to me. “I just know.”

“But how?”

“I dunno. Same way you know how much MiraLAX to sprinkle in your enemies pastries before they start to accuse you.”

A huff of air blew from my nose.

Crew looked between me and the bowl once more. This tiny glint of what almost looked like guilt flashed in his eyes before he muttered low, “Come here, you can see it better.”

I followed his instructions and saddled up next to him, watching as the lime green sauce was stirred between the mix of veggies. Crew dipped two fingers in and brought them to his mouth, and sucked them dry right next to me. Heat flooded my entire body and this felt like the kind of thing I wasn’t meant to be seeing.

This was never going to work. Not if he kept seducing me in this kitchen. I was on a mission here. I had to focus on the goal: getting home. And this finger licking good business was getting out of control.

Crew cleared his throat. “Needs more onions. You can dice one right?”

I nodded. “I use onion in my meat loaf.”

“What…do you mean?”

“Never mind.” I reached for the cutting board next to him and yellow onion to dice together. My fingers glide carefully over the wooden block where his knives rested, my sage green nails dance across each handle with ease. A warrior picking its weapon for battle.

I settled on a butcher knife before diving into the onion. I’d always heard chefs get used to cutting onions over time but it had never really happened for me. Every single time my eyes watered and every time I wrongfully assumed they wouldn’t, resulting in me touching my eyes, which made them water even more until it was a vicious cycle of me crying in my kitchen. But Crew next to me doesn’t have so much as a drop forming. He’s calculated…focused. He looked exactly as I imagined I had when I was in my own element. In my truck with eighties music on shuffle, pink bowls and spatulas and cream cheese danishes and doughnuts forming over time.

When my onion was diced I slid the tray to him and smiled a little. He looked down at me with genuine fear.

“This isn’t another sugar/salt thing is it?”

“I only did that because the mustache was absolutely ridiculous and I needed you to know it.”

“I think I knew it when I glued it on.” He scrunched his nose a tad. “I still feel it.”

A small snort left my nose and I turned to the area.

“So, this is how we do it? I do my part, you do yours?”

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