Lyon sucked it all in before turning toward the kitchen. I was chopping potatoes while a pot of chicken simmered on the burner, steam rising in gentle wisps.

He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and walked into the kitchen. "Let me help."

I flinched but shook my head. "No need. I can do it."

Despite my protest, Lyon washed his hands and, before I could protest, took the knife from me and began slicing the potatoes himself. As I watched him slice more precisely and expertly than I had been doing, I couldn't help but be impressed.

"I didn't know you were such an expert knifer," I...