Excuse me," the man said, his voice deep and smooth and tinged with cautious humor. He gestured toward her hand. "The knife. I come in peace."
Clara looked down. The knife was pointing directly at his chest. She yanked it back immediately, her face flushing with embarrassment.
"Oh my God," she said. "I'm so sorry. I was cooking. I didn't—I wasn't—I'm not trying to stab you, I swear."
"I'm relieved to hear that." The man lowered his hands slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You have excellent knife skills, by the way. Very threatening."
"I was making chicken."
"Ah. The chicken's loss, I'm sure."
Clara blinked. Was he... flirting with her? No. That was ridiculous. He was just being polite. Handsome men were always polite. It was probably exhausting, being that g
