I slice several apples and onions, retrieve olive oil and mustard from the pantry, get the pans heating. I even start to feel a twinge of pride at the knowledge that Dean is watching me, especially after his nasty remark that I could end up like my mother, who had no viable skills of her own.
Now I know how to prep a kitchen, how to season and cook different cuts of meat, how to make stock. I know about fresh herbs, sauces, acidity, various salts, and flavor profiles. I know how to cut vegetables and the best purposes for different knives, pans, and pots. Hell, I even know how to carve a whole chicken.
Hah. Take that, Mr. Medieval History Professor.
The pork tenderloin is thick and need to be cut, so I take out the slicing knife with a flourish.
“How’s it going, Liv?”
Tyler stops uncertainly in front of me. It would seem strange to the other students if he ignored me, so I know he’s here for appearances rather than any real interest in how I’m doing. In fact, he looks as if he’d rather be anywhere but at my station.
“Uh, just fine, thanks.” I give him a weak smile and turn my attention back to the pork.
“Your pan is too hot.” Tyler comes around to lower the heat under my skillet. “And your butter is going to burn if you don’t add oil to it.”
“Right. Sorry.” I flip the meat over and start to saw it in half, which I know is the wrong technique but I’m getting nervous again. I can feel Dean’s hostile stare burning into Tyler.
“Wait.” Tyler steps closer. “Let the knife do the work, Liv. When you’re doing a butterfly cut, keep the knife parallel to the cutting board.”
He reaches out to put his hand over mine on the knife handle. I jerk away. My breath catches in my throat. Tyler drops his hand to his side and steps back.
“Well, you remember how I did it, right?” he asks.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Okay. Stay focused.”
He moves on to Charlotte’s station. I wipe my hand on my apron and grasp the knife. A sudden flash of that night, that kiss, makes my chest tighten with dismay.
I don’t know why I kissed Tyler. I’ve never wanted to look at another man since I met Dean. And not only did I let myself kiss Tyler, I actually liked it.
I glance at Dean. He’s watching me, his arms still crossed, his expression unreadable.
I don’t know if he’s forgiven me. I don’t know if I’ve forgiven him. I certainly haven’t forgiven myself.
I slice into the tenderloin. Suddenly a searing pain flares through my entire hand and up my arm. I let out a sharp cry and drop the knife. Dean is beside me in less than a second, reaching out to grab my wrist.
“Liv?” Tyler hurries toward me.
“Back off.” Dean growls the order at him. Tyler skids to a halt.
“Oh, Jesus, Liv.” Charlotte stares at my hand. “Someone call 911!”
I start to protest that it’s not that bad, but then I look down and see what appears to be a river of blood pooling onto the cutting board, over the knife and the raw meat.
My blood.
Dizziness swamps me. I sway against Dean. He grabs a dishtowel and wraps it around my hand, then guides me to a chair. The other students huddle around, buzzing with concern. Dean presses the towel tight against my hand to stem the flow of blood.
“Everyone, step back, please,” Tyler calls. “The medics are on their way.”
The crowd eases away to give me room to breathe. My head spins, the pain starting to throb. There’s blood on my apron.
Within minutes, two paramedics arrive, and then I lose track of what happens—tightness on my hand, a blood pressure cuff, lots of questions. Someone puts my legs up on a chair.
Dean moves back to let the paramedics work, but keeps his hand tight on my shoulder as he confers with them. I hear the words blood loss, deep cut, and nerve damage, all of which seize my chest with fear.
“Dean?” My own voice sounds very far away.
“Right here.” He lowers his head close to my ear. “Hang in there, beauty.”
The paramedics bandage the wound and suggest I go to the ER. I don’t want to go to the ER.
Dean hauls me up against him. His arm around my shoulders might be the only thing keeping me upright.
“Come on,” he says. “I’m taking you.”
There’s a lot more talking, voices rising with concern, and next thing I know I’m in the backseat of Dean’s car with Charlotte by my side. Dean drives to the nearest hospital and stops at the emergency entrance. After a brief discussion, Charlotte goes to park his car in the regular lot while Dean and I go inside.
In the ER, he leaves me briefly to fill out the paperwork before I’m led to an examination area. A doctor and nurse ask more questions, all of which Dean answers, and then they unwrap the wound and clean it with a stinging solution that makes me yelp.
I stare at the cut, which looks huge and gaping red. “What… what about nerve damage? The medics said…”
“We’ll check for that, Mrs. West.”