“It isn’t wise to mess with people who handle your food. Keep it up, Knox, and I might burn your pork chop.” His smirk only broadened as he stood from the island. “Go ahead,” he said and turned to leave. “Might be a better flavor than that jam you’re making,” he shot over his shoulder. I had a spatula raised above my head so fast, I shocked even myself. Colt grabbed my wrist. “Whoa, there. Why don’t we put the spatula down?” Colt took the spatula from my hand, allowing Knox to leave the kitchen safely.
