Chapter 8
George placed the whole pumpkin on the bench. “Righto, where do you keep your chopping board?”
I grabbed the largest board from the stack beside the stove, slid the chef’s knife from the wooden block and deposited them both beside the pumpkin. “Go for it. I hate chopping pumpkin.” I’d taken the Padre’s advice about not spending too much time alone and invited George over to help me cook for the soup kitchen. They didn’t only serve soup, but this time of year a warm meal was appreciated.
“I’d rather chop pumpkin than onion.” George grabbed a couple of brown onions from the bag.
“Pumpkin then onion?”
“I definitely said than.” He tossed the onions in my direction. I caught one in each hand then set to dicing them. My kitchen wasn’t huge but it was wider than the galley we usual
