Leroy stepped back, wary but amused. Lorraine tied her hair with a ribbon, sleeves rolled up as if she'd done this a hundred times before. Confidence radiated from her like sunlight. Her confidence was misplaced, but dazzling.
She inspected the shelves, humming softly, and Leroy couldn't help but watch. She opened the spice box, frowned, sniffed it suspiciously, and sneezed. "Spicy," she muttered to herself.
Then she picked up a knife.
Leroy's breath caught. "Careful—"
She waved him off. "I've seen people handle blades sharper than this."
Which was true, but apparently, kitchen knives were a different species, and watching was no closer to having hands-on experience. The onion rolled away, she chased it, slipped a little, and muttered something so unladylike that Leroy nearly choked trying not to laugh.
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, trying to look stern. She noticed him and glared. "Don't just stand there, Commander. I'm cooking for you."
