Page 42 of A Summer of Stars

My chest felt warm. “Old habit.”

“Looking at my body?” His brows rose.

“Reading body language,” I corrected him. “Important when noting your enemy’s next move.”And when you’re trying to gauge whether a competitor is going to serve to your right or your left.

“You’re very scary.”

“My mother used to say it was my best quality.”

“I’d love to know your worst, then.”

“I’ll fill you in while I finish dinner.”

He pushed off the countertop. “No, you won’t. Sit down.”

I paused, and for once, said, “Fine,” happy to put him to work. I moved out of the way, but not before he could take my elbow. The feeling was swift, but it traveled all the way up my arm and burrowed in my chest. I wanted to plunge my hand beneath the bone and toss out of the sensation. But it only continued to fester, growing warmer and spreading, until he let go.

“Wait,” he said, “I’m going to show you how to properly cut these. Then, you sit.”

“Is this really necessary?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded steady.

“Some of us prefer our food without blood in it, so yes. I also heard you require fingers to play tennis.”

Fair enough.

He took his hat off and proceeded to pull his sweatshirt over his head, a sliver of his shirt lifting with it. The muscles in his torso moved, and the shape of each one was highlighted by the stove’s hood light. It reminded me of the male tennis players I’d train beside in the gym when I was first starting out. I’d turn away quickly, embarrassed, hoping they didn’t notice.

Now, I struggled to avert my gaze.

I had seen him entirely shirtless before. But that was in a movie I watched from the privacy of my home while wearing ratty Christmas pajamas covered in fallen popcorn. A trace of his hips should mean nothing.Should.

He threw the hoodie over a chair and shook out his disheveled hair. I never had the chance to look for this long, but it didn’t look very blond. Almost like a brown too hard to color-match because it shifted shades in the light.

With his hat taming his hair again, he picked up the knife I had dropped, looking as comfortable as I did with a racket. His thumb and index finger hugged the base of the blade, right above the handle.

“You’re going to pinch the top of the handle—this will give you the most control of the blade. With your nondominant hand, you’re going to do a bear claw motion on the celery. This way, if your blade slips, it will hit your nail rather than skin—this goes for cutting all types of food, not just vegetables. Then instead of picking the knife off the cutting board as you cut, you’ll do a rocking motion, so you’re not losing your knuckles either. To answer your question from earlier, usually you move the food under the blade, but just starting out, let’s focus on the knife. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Now you try,” he said, offering me the knife, scooting over.

I accepted the hilt, copying his previous movements. Left hand clawed over the celery, right gripping the start of the blade. Before I could begin cutting, he repositioned my index finger on the knife. It was as casual as adjusting a player’s grip before they could serve. But really, it felt as casual as knowing the number of lines that ran across your worst enemy’s palm. It didn’tfeelcasual at all.

“Just like that,” he affirmed.

After a few slices, he gestured for me to sit, finishing the job. He knew better than to try and give me a hands-on tutorial.

“So… you worked in a restaurant?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. He continued chopping, simply moving onto the next herb or vegetable within hand’s reach. “Nothing fancy. More like a tavern.”

“What was that like?”

“I’m not sure I had a very realistic experience. My dad had me in his kitchen the moment I could walk. Learning to identify salt from sugar, a tablespoon versus a teaspoon. By the time the other kids in school were old enough to take on part-time jobs, I had already been working as a cook for years. The smell of rosemary lived in my hair. Sometimes I think it would’ve been more enjoyable if it wasn’t all run by my father.”

“Headstrong?”

“More than you can imagine. Without him, though, I wouldn’t be able to prepare this lovely dinner.”