“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” I tell her honestly. “But I’d like to help.”

“Do onions make you cry?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Try cutting these up,” she says.

She gives me a couple of yellow onions, plus a worn cutting board and a large chef’s knife that has clearly been sharpened again and again over time. The blade is honed to fragile thinness.

I take the counter space next to her, and I try cutting and peeling the onions.

I can tell I’m wasting too much—it’s hard to get the skin off, without taking a ring or two off the onion as well. Then my pieces are all different shapes and sizes, not uniform like when I’ve seen Raylan do this. I try to use the grip on the knife that he showed me, and the rocking motion. That helps a little.

The onions are stinging the hell out of my eyes. I blink hard, sending tears running down my cheeks. I swipe my eyes with the back of my hand, but that only makes it worse.

“Some people seem immune to onions,” Celia says. “Not me, that’s for sure.”

“My pieces are wonky,” I point out.

“Doesn’t matter. They’ll taste the same regardless.”

Celia uses the knife to scrape the onions into a cast-iron frypan, which is already sizzling with butter. She sautés carrot, onion, and celery pieces all together, filling the kitchen with their savory scent.

“How did you like riding this morning?” Celia asks me.

For a second I can feel myself blushing, as if Celia might guess what happened at the river. Then I remember that nobody knows that—all they saw was me trying out a horse for the very first time. So I say, truthfully, “It was much better than I expected. Really incredible, actually.”

“Most people are scared of horses if they haven’t ridden before.”

“I was scared, at first,” I admit. “I would have been more afraid if I was on Brutus instead of Penny.”

Celia looks over at me, her blue eyes searching my face.

“I can see why Raylan likes you,” she says. “You’re honest. That’s important to him. He can’t stand being lied to.”

“We don’t . . . we’re not . . . ” I trail off. I want to tell Celia that we’re not dating, but I can’t exactly say there’s nothing between us.

“I know, I know,” she says, stirring the contents of the frypan. “He told me you weren’t together. But he’s never brought a girl home before.”

Despite the fact that I don’t want Celia getting the wrong idea, her statement gives me a warm flush of pleasure. I would have been jealous at the thought of Raylan bringing another woman here. Introducing her to his family, taking her on horseback for the first time. Even though I don’t particularly want the distinction, I’m enjoying it anyway. Knowing this is all as new to him as it is to me.