POV: BRIGAIL
The kitchen was enormous. Brigail picked the smallest station, a corner with a marble counter and a four-burner range, and started hunting the pantry while Eli pulled up a stool and watched her like she was something he was still trying to figure out.
"You can wash the pans after," she said without looking up.
"These hands don't wash breakable things."
"Then you'll learn something new tonight."
She came back with eggs, butter, ham, bell peppers, cheese, and buttermilk. He watched her work. The way her face went serious when she was focused. The way she bit her lip when she was measuring by eye. He shifted on his stool and looked at the ceiling and came back to watching her anyway.
"Would you say I'm an asshole?" he asked.
She kept dicing. "Not to your face."
He got off
