Page 26

"Sit down, then. Keep that leg up."

I obey.

Mostly.

He places a cutting board and vegetables in front of me, then hands me a knife.

"You're giving me a weapon?"

"Carrots had it coming."

I spend the next few minutes chopping while he prepares the chicken.

The table beneath my hands is beautiful, the dark wood polished smooth.

"This is lovely."

He glances over.

"Table?"

"Yes. It's gorgeous."

"Made it."

I look up.

"You made this?"

"Yeah. Got a workshop out back."

"I have scissors. That doesn't make me a dressmaker."

"Wouldn't trust you near a curtain."

I laugh.

"How long did it take?"

"Few weeks. Worked on it when I needed something to do."

"You're good with your hands."

His gaze lifts.

Heat rushes into my cheeks.

"With woodworking," I add.

His mouth curves.

"Got that, darlin'."

Oh, dear God.

"Where did you learn?"

"Started messing around with it after I got out of the Army."