Page 48 of You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty

Fuck, she thought. Joy was right.

She composed her face back into order. “Hi,” she said. “I thought you were out on the grounds today.”

Alim slid his hands into his pockets. “I finished early,” he said.

“Oh, cool. Did you get to see Nasir before he left? He was looking for you.”

“Yes, he found me out in the orchard. You seen Lorraine?”

Feyi sketched a few lines to avoid the swamp of his eyes. “She caught a ride with Nasir back to town already. Said she’d give you a call later.”

Alim shook his head. “She really can’t stand to be up here without him, that child. Always rushing back to town.” He sat down across the table from her. “How has your insomnia been? I haven’t seen you in the garden since that night.” He said it like he’d missed her.

Feyi definitely didn’t dare to look at him now that he was this close, just in case he saw everything she wanted leaking out from her eyes. It was too dangerous, just like that damn garden, and she had no idea why he was bringing it up now. It all fell into the category of the peak and the sunrise, moments they’d shared that she was trying very hard to forget.

“I’ve been sleeping okay,” she answered, closing her sketchbook. It would look rude to keep drawing pointless lines while he was sitting there trying to talk to her. Feyi could smell his skin, that goddamn lemongrass again.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

She brandished the core of the guava, pink with dotted seeds. “I had some fruit, but I could make something, if you like.” As soon as she said it, Feyi blushed furiously. You don’t cook, and the man has two Michelin stars, she scolded herself. God, you’re such an idiot. She hadn’t been thinking, it had just popped out because she felt like she should contribute more, now that Nasir wasn’t there to buffer, now she was directly his guest.

Alim raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted to get me out of the way, there are other options,” he drawled. “Food poisoning seems a little drastic.”

Feyi gasped and tossed her sketchbook on the table in fake outrage. “How dare you.”

He laughed, and she cursed silently as it sent a thrill through her. Last night was supposed to have put this to rest, but here she was, fighting the urge to touch his face, just once. Just so she could know what his skin felt like under her palm, maybe see his eyes soften as he leaned into her hand. Or maybe he’d pull back? No, she couldn’t pretend that evening in his kitchen with the mango foam hadn’t happened. Feyi knew what desire looked like and it had been loud in his eyes, soaking the air between them. That, and the way her exhibit had stripped something from his face, that naked look she’d caught and hadn’t been able to put down. It had been so much easier to resist him when she thought he didn’t want her, when she felt pathetic and alone in the crush, but now? Now there was real possibility, and it was sitting across from her; it was trapped alone with her in this irrational dream of a house.

“How about I make some food?” Alim was saying, standing up from the table. “One guava doesn’t count as a meal.”

Feyi swung her legs down from the bench. “Only if you let me help.” He cut his eyes at her, and she laughed. “Come on! I can’t chop up some shit?”

Alim made a disbelieving face. “Can you?”

“Oh, you got jokes.” Feyi followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the zellige-tiled counter. “What happened to you teaching me?”

“Ah.” He opened the fridge and looked around in it. “You make a good point.”

“See?” Feyi folded her arms. “Teach me, then.”

When Alim stilled with his back to her, Feyi wondered if she’d made the challenge sound as suggestive as it had felt coming out of her mouth. There were so many lessons she’d love to learn from his hands. A taut moment passed before he pulled out some peeled and cleaned carrots and Swiss chard from the fridge, handing them over to her with a root of ginger.

“We’ll start simple,” he said. “Peel the ginger, then try slicing the carrots for me.”

“Yes!” Feyi grabbed a cutting board and made dramatic swoops with her arms. “Iron Chef, here I come!”

“Good Lord.” Alim laughed as he handed her a spoon. “Take it easy.” He was pulling spices as well as quail eggs, then put a pan on the stove and poured caraway seeds into it, back in the flow she now associated with him whenever he was in a kitchen, easy and smooth.

“Um … what do I do with this?” Feyi asked, holding the spoon up in confusion.

Alim laughed softly. “Use it to scrape the skin off the ginger, sweetness.”

Oh God, he’d called her sweetness. One casual endearment and Feyi was already wet, for fuck’s sake. She took a deep breath and turned to her task at hand, trying to focus. The ginger’s bright yellow revealed itself as she pulled the spoon over it, brown skin curling aside in scraps. Alim shook the pan as the seeds toasted and the air turned all nutty and spicy. Feyi put aside the ginger and reached for the carrots. They were slim and bright orange against the bamboo board, much prettier than anything she would’ve found in a grocery store in New York. There was a click as Alim turned off the stove, and Feyi tried not to check him out too obviously as he moved around the kitchen. A ray of sunlight struck his jaw, spilling across his mouth, and Feyi bit her lip against another tug of desire.

This was getting ridiculous. She started chopping the carrots with a little more enthusiasm than they needed, then stopped, uncertain.

“Wait, am I doing this right?”

Alim was cracking quail eggs into a bowl, the delicate shells coming apart between his long fingers. “Just give them a quick julienne,” he replied.