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“I can take direction just fine, Chef,” I say with more of an edge than I intend. I catch the barest hint of a smirk on his face, but it’s there and gone before I can fully define it.
I gave him my apple butter, and the next day he reported that it was the most delicious spread he’d ever had, and he gave me some Saint-Nectaire to use with it on sourdough. He swore the creamy texture and nutty flavor would do well on some toast with the apple butter, and he wasn’t wrong.
My chef's knife is like an extension of my hand. With each rotation of the blade, I feel more and more at peace. With each cut, I separate myself from the life I left back home.
“You’d be surprised,” I mumble under my breath, which catches James’s attention, but I don’t think he actually heard me.
That feathered muscle flares up again in James’s jaw as he tries to look away before I catch him snooping, but I know he saw. I know James saw who texted me.
He’s not used to hearing no, for one. He’s not used to not getting his way. He’s not used to me actually having an opinion of my own.
He’s not used to the fact that I can now spot his manipulations from a mile away.
Girls suck. They suck! I’m a girl—I know when I suck, and I know when other girls suck, and this little display right here just sucks.
“You were right, Claire.” Then, after taking another bite, he says, “Just like a cloud.”
And just like that, whether he knows it or not, there’s a shift. Just like that, we’re on the same team. Turns out, I’m an easy friend to win over.
Chianti: aged for several years in oak barrels and known for its fruity, acidic flavors of cherries, plums, and herbs, Chianti tends to be medium-bodied but can range in style from a light, easy-drinking wine to a more complex, full-bodied wine.
“You make me feel like such a slug when I see you come in after a run while I’ve slept the morning away.”
I remember I’m only in a robe . . . and my face is pink. Not blush pink, but clay-mask pink.
I register that my legs are shaking slightly when I feel a large, warm hand cover my own.
I open the eyes I didn’t realize were still closed to see James’s large, calloused hand wrapping around my tiny, trembling hand,
I don’t want different. I just want James. Damn it.
and he assures me there’s no need in the next forty-eight hours to get in a car. And it’s stuff like that that makes me a little crazy for him.

