The Piano Man Project by Kat French Page A

a few off for her. He offered them to her flat on his palm as if he were feeding a donkey, and she certainly felt like one as she took them from him.
    ‘Do I need to peel them?’
    He sighed. ‘Just smash them with the flat of a large knife. Press down on them until they split.’
    Honey reached for her carving knife and tentatively did as he’d suggested, amazed when it actually worked.
    ‘Well, what do you know,’ she laughed, extracting the raw garlic from the skin. ‘I did it! Do I chop it like the onions now?’
    Hal nodded, checking her work with his fingertips when she pushed the chopping board towards him after chopping.
    ‘Warm the olive oil and add the bacon, then after a minute or so add the onions and garlic too.’ He listened as she sparked the gas beneath the pan. ‘Not that high. Burnt garlic is bitter and will spoil the dish.’
    Honey adjusted the flame and tossed in the pancetta.
    ‘Watch it carefully. We both know you can get in trouble with bacon,’ he muttered, and she rolled her eyes and shook the pan as she’d seen chefs do on the TV.
    ‘Once, Hal. I’ve only ever burned bacon once in my life, and it just so happened that you were there at the time. I’ll have you know I usually make a killer bacon sandwich.’
    ‘I’ll bear that in mind if you ever make me breakfast,’ he said, and images of him waking up in her bed assaulted her brain and threatened to make her burn bacon for a second time.
    ‘Now add the onions and garlic to the pan.’
    She scraped the onions and garlic into the pan, excited by the gentle sizzle as they hit the oil.
    ‘Oh my God, Hal, it smells like an Italian restaurant already in here, doesn’t it?’ She grinned with delight and sniffed the air.
    He shook his head, but didn’t disillusion her. ‘How are they looking?’ he asked after a few minutes. ‘Don’t let them brown or overcook.’
    ‘How will I know when they’re ready?’
    ‘Use your bloody eyes,’ Hal muttered. ‘And taste them.’
    ‘What are they supposed to taste like, beside onion and garlic?’
    ‘Fucking hell, Honey, this is painful. Here, let me taste them.’
    She glanced from the pan to the man on the other side of her breakfast bar, and then tentatively forked up some onions.
    ‘Open your mouth,’ she said, holding the fork out across the bar.
    ‘You don’t need to spoon feed me,’ he muttered. ‘I can feed myself.’
    ‘I know that. I just thought it’d be easier from across this side of the bar, that’s all. I didn’t mean to be patronising,’ she said, aware that it probably seemed like it from his perspective. He shrugged, and then surprisingly, he opened his mouth and let her slide the fork in. Watching his mouth, Honey felt the stir of sexual awakenings in her gut that was always close by when he was around. She slid the fork slowly from between his lips and waited for the verdict.
    ‘They’re ready,’ he murmured.
    So am I, she thought. ‘Ready for what?’ she said, flustered.
    ‘Turn up the heat and add the beef.’
    Oh, the heat was already well and truly turned up. Honey was breaking into a sweat that had nothing to do with the onions and everything to do with the man opposite her. She was actually glad he couldn’t see the effect he was having on her right at that moment; she was like a starry-eyed teenager meeting the man who usually lived in posters on her bedroom wall. It defied all common sense – Hal was thoroughly objectionable and rude, but she couldn’t seem to control the way she reacted to him. He had her so nervous that she worried she’d slice off her shaking fingers as she chopped the carrots and celery, and when he asked to test the food for a second time she swallowed hard and had to look away as his lips closed around the fork.
    ‘Hot,’ he breathed, and she could only agree. He was, and she was because of him. Why the hell had she promised that she’d never mention that kiss again? Did he know what he did to her? If he could see