Page 27 of Forgotten Sacrifice
“You know what, I’ve decided I don’t like the dime-store philosophy game,” she says, trying to jerk her wrist away, but I won’t let her.
“Luna, you don’t have to hide your scars from me,” I tell her quietly, the air between us having become intolerably thick. “Those cut marks? Proof you’ve clawed your way out of hell. Be proud, not ashamed.”
“What would you have done if I had been cutting myself?” she says, barely above a whisper.
I release her wrist, casting my gaze away from her hypnotic eyes. “Moot point. Here, let me show you how to chop herbs.” I grab the knife and bundle the parsley sprigs together before demonstrating chopping. “You try.”
I step aside, and Luna takes the knife, looking unsure.
“Hold it like this with your fingertips pointed inward.” I reach my arms around Luna, watching over her shoulder as I adjust her hand to the correct position. Now that she’s no longer in danger of losing a digit, I guide the knife with my hand over hers. I find myself inhaling deeply, her lush and surprisingly sweet scent filling my nostrils. It’s a flora, fruity scent I’m trying to place; I take another inhale.
Ah, it’s apricots.
“Not a chef here, but pretty sure chopping requires some kind of knife movement,” Luna says, and I realize we’ve stopped chopping.
Apricotsandattitude.
“I’ll finish this; you get the silverware,” I say, dropping my hand and returning to the stove. I busy myself with finishing the pasta, refusing to analyze why I’m acting so damn weird around myward.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it from the counter.
Why didn’t I get an invite to family dinner?
I send a reply to my nosy-ass brother.
I’m busy tonight.
“If you need to go murder somebody, I’m good here by myself,” Luna pipes up.
“Sorry to disappoint.You’re stuck with me tonight.”
Dinner proceeds with Luna taking verbal jabs at me, and me being amused at her effort.
I clear our plates and present the crostata. “This is dessert, not me ‘Stockholm syndroming’ you.”
“See, it’s a verb.”
I sigh heavily. “Eat.”
She reluctantly takes a bite of cherries and pastry, and then another, and another, a look of pure bliss on her face.
“Una ciliegia tira l’altra,” I murmur.
“What does that mean?” She catches me watching her.
“One cherry leads to another.” The literal translation, but the innuendo means something else. And that something else pops into my mind; an unbidden image of Luna in my lap as I feed her cherries and lick the juice off her plump lips.
“I’m not familiar with that expression,” Luna says, her tongue darting out and licking cherry juice from those lips I was just imagining.
“I’ve gotta take a call.” I push away from the table and storm out.
One thing isnotgoing to lead to another.
Chapter
Thirteen
Luna
