“This?” I asked, pointing at the bunch of herbs and the head of garlic sitting next to a cutting board on the counter, like I’d never seen either in real life.

“That’s all...for now,” he confirmed with a sexy slickness that was frankly uncalled for when dealing with herbs and spices.

He reached over on my left side so that his front was right at my back, not close enough to touch, but I could still feel the heat of him up and down my body. He grabbed a small knife from a magnetic strip on the wall and slid it next to my hand.

“Use the cutting board,” he ordered, while his other arm appeared on my right and tapped the wooden slab in front of me. It was like being sprayed with flames. “You got this.”

He winked then turned his attention to stirring the pot full of the stew like he hadn’t just defibrillated my libido. I leaned both hands on the counter, letting the cool granite calm me while I breathed through my nose a few times before turning to Julia and hiking a thumb in Theo’s direction.

“See what I mean,” I mouthed. My friend didn’t answer, just picked up her phone and tapped on the screen and a few seconds later my own buzzed in my pocket.

Julia: We’re taking bets on how long it’ll be before you two fuck on that counter... I say a week. José says Friday.

Alba: It’s Wednesday!

Julia: OH... We know.

I flipped them a shaky middle finger and proceeded to do the shoddiest job of mincing cilantro in the history of humankind.

“Here’s the garlic press.” That was said right against my ear, and I very nearly maimed myself.

“I don’t need that,” I said a little more testily than was warranted and slid the garlic press away.

“It’s easier,” he prodded in an overly amiable tone that put my teeth on edge. I really wanted to fight him. Fight him and then climb up the distance to his mouth and kiss the hell out of him.

“I don’t want it,” I insisted when he continued to stare at me. “You told me you needed minced garlic, doesn’t mean I have to do it like you’d do it,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, that’s pretty clear,” the asshole said, raising an eyebrow at my pile of poorly minced cilantro. This was why whenever cooking was happening in my house I stayed as far away from the kitchen as possible. I was so good at putting things together, at making things. But with food I didn’t have the slightest clue. I hated feeling clueless, and like always when I felt inadequate, I lashed out.