I snorted. “Where do you see me, then?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “In here with me, making meatballs. Now here’s how you roll them.”
My stomach did a perfect pirouette as he snatched a handful of mince. His hands worked to form it into a decent-sized ball. He showed it to me between his thumb and index finger once he was satisfied with it.
“Not too small, and not too big. About this size so they cook well and have a decent bite to them. You got it?”
I knew how to roll meatballs, it wasn’t science, but Luke seemed to have switched into teacher mode again, and I enjoyed the presentation. And listening to him talk. His voice had this perfect rumbling pitch to it that felt safe and thrilling at the same time.
“Not in the least. How do you roll them again?” I bit my lip, trying hard not to grin.
Luke raised his eyebrow at me. “Do you need another demonstration, Red Cheeks?”
“Yes, sure,” I giggled.
“Okay, then.”
Instead of picking up another handful of mince, he ran his hands under water at the sink. All the while his green eyes never strayed from mine. Then he thoroughly dried his fingers on the towel hanging over his shoulder, biceps flexing with every movement. Once satisfied, Luke walked over to my side of the kitchen island.
“Let’s try it this way,” he said from right behind me, raising the hairs on my neck just by his nearness.
He took a step forward, and his warmth seeped through the back of my very casual Glen-chosen shirt. One of his hands snaked around me and slowly slid across my arm, stopping under my palm. Goosebumps spread in its wake, and my breath hitched.
“Luke,” I gasped, not sure if I wanted him to stop or me to press much closer against him.
“I don’t ever give special one-on-one meatball-rolling instructions, Haylee, so you better pay close attention,” he whispered close to my ear. “Are you ready?”
I swallowed, my mouth feeling far too dry for it to be any use. Not trusting my voice, I simply nodded my head ‘yes.’
Luke’s free hand reached out into the bowl and scooped up a decent-sized haul. He brought it over to our joined hands. “Now this will feel a bit cold,” he said before he dropped it onto my palm and covered it with his much bigger one.
The meatball mix might’ve been cold, just like he said, but I didn’t feel it through the warmth of his hands sandwiching mine and the insurmountable heat building up in my stomach.
“Do you feel the size of it?” Luke murmured and my heart literally stopped. “That’s the way it should feel.”
It was definitely warm. Very, very warm. And Luke’s comment about size wasn’t helping the matter.
He guided my hand against his, rolling the initially shapeless mixture into a perfect sphere.
Despite the texture of the warming mince, the sensation of my hand between both of his was thrilling. I don’t know if Luke intended it to become this intimate—who am I fooling, he possibly planned it this way. It was the oldest trick in the book. Done countless times with billiard cues and baseball bats, and apparently meatballs, although this might be a first. You know, step behind the girl and guide her into scoring a hit, or ah, making a meatball. ‘I’ll show you how to do it’ and all. Either way, he certainly knew what he was doing and he’d reeled me in effortlessly.
I liked his proximity. I liked it a lot, but I didn’t understand why he would want to be this close to me. I didn’t comprehend why he’d been giving me attention, calling me gorgeous, showing me how to make meatballs. Because the one time I thought someone liked me for me had proven how very wrong I was to assume such a thing. I was spiralling deeper into my thoughts right then and there in his embrace. I wanted nothing more than to simply enjoy this one piece of solicitude he was offering me without worrying what his scheme might be. Not everyone was a scheming dickhead, right? Right.Get out of your head now before you mess this up!
“Do you teach any other classes after this?” I asked before I could catch the words behind my teeth.
Luke’s chuckle vibrated through my back, and his breath brushed against my cheek. “Only if you want me to, Hals.”
I turned my head, and his lips almost grazed my cheek. I was overheating for sure, and even if there was a fan right in front of my face, I don’t think that’d been enough for proper air circulation to get my brain working.
“So there are other things you’re good at?” I asked breathily, getting stuck in his green eyes. “Good enough to teach.”
The longer he stayed near me, the more intoxicated I became. His musky scent and warmth thoroughly encompassed me. I was ready to combust into flames by the intensity of his gaze alone. The speedy thumping of his heart tried to outdance my own. I wasn’t certain I could take the tension much longer, but I didn’t want to move.
“What is it that you’re asking me, Haylee?” he murmured. “I want to be sure we’re talking about the same thing.”
We probably were, but I wasn’t brave enough to point it out, so instead I took the coward’s way out. “Pottery, or yoga, or clarinet?”
“Ah,” Luke hummed. “Clarinet? Just so we’re clear, that’s not slang for anything sexual is it?”
