“Are we watching a summer-camp slasher?” He lifted a lime. “Knife?”
She stepped around him, opened a drawer, and handed him a paring knife. She had the brief thought that this could be the opening to a horror scene. She frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Hill asked, ever observant, as he took the knife and sliced into a lime.
“Huh?”
He drew a circle in the air around her face with his finger. “You look concerned.”
She blinked and waved a dismissive hand. “Sorry. My mind goes to weird places sometimes. Don’t mind me. No, we’re not watching a summer-camp movie, but we are watching a foundational slasher classic. Halloween.”
He eyed her as he adeptly made their drinks, his hands moving in a dance he’d clearly done many times before. “Tell me where your mind went. I’m curious.”
She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Now I really want to know,” he said with a little laugh. “Come on. Lay it on me.”
She sighed and leaned back against the counter. “You know, I had trouble imagining you as a bartender because you’re kind of quiet, but now I see it. Bartenders get people’s stories without them realizing it by being friendly yet chill enough to coax it out of them.”
He smirked. “Easier to get people’s stories as a bartender. Alcohol makes for a loose-lipped interviewee.” He rubbed the lime around the rim of the glass. “Should I wait until you’ve had a drink before asking again?”
She sniffed. “No, it’s fine. You want a peek inside my brain? Well, here you go. I handed you the knife, and I had this vision of a horror scene. Guy is making a girl’s drink, asks for a knife, and when she turns her back, he slips something into her drink. She then turns and hands him the weapon he’s going to torture her with later when she’s too drugged to fight back. Then I got the image of a margarita glass rimmed with blood instead of salt, the villain drinking from it with a smile on his face.”
Hill had stopped mixing the drinks and was staring. “Wow.”
“Yep,” she replied, emphasizing the p at the end of the word. “I can pretty much turn anything into something sinister. It’s like my personal Instagram filter—one I can’t always turn off. Aren’t you sorry you asked?”
“No. I find it fascinating,” he said, no jest in his voice. “I’m sure that kind of brain helps you write great books. But I also could see how it’d be a hard thing in other situations.” He set down the knife, concern in his eyes. “Are you worried I’m going to do something to your drink?”
“Logically, no.” She shrugged. “But also, I didn’t turn my back while you poured. I made sure the tequila bottle had a seal on it when you opened it. Not because I’m suspicious of you personally but because I’ve done the What Can We Learn from This? podcast long enough that those habits are ingrained.”
He nodded. “Smart. I’m sorry that we live in a world where you have to worry about things like that.”
The words were simple but helped something unwind inside her. “Thanks.”
“And truly, I won’t be offended by any safety precautions you take, even if it means being suspicious of me,” he said, going back to the drinks. “I know women have a lot more to worry about than guys even consider.” He looked over at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re safe with me, but feel free to test me on that.”
She smiled, the offer warming her from the inside out. “How do you know you’re safe with me? I’m the one picturing blood-rimmed margarita glasses.”
“Oh, I don’t.” He handed her a drink with a wry smile. “You scare the hell out of me, Andi Lockley.”
She laughed and accepted the glass. “Good. Be afraid. Be very afraid.” She sipped the drink, the delicious tart-sweet combo making her hum with pleasure. “Ooh, that’s tasty.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. Arsenic does go down easy. Sweet on the tongue.”
She snort-laughed and almost choked on her drink. She shoved him in the shoulder. “Oh my God. You’re awful. No poison jokes!”
He grabbed her drink from her and sipped it from the other side, a playful glint in his eye. “There. Now we’re both in trouble.”
He handed the drink back to her, but her laugh quieted in her throat. She hadn’t seen this side of Hill before—this confident, flirty side. The man was damn sexy on any day, but this? This was fan-herself-and-find-the-smelling-salts swoonworthy. She held his eye contact and sipped her drink where he had. He watched her mouth.
That focused gaze felt like a touch.
Worried she’d show how she was feeling all over her face, she pushed off from the counter. “We should eat. Otherwise, this is going to go straight to my head. And drunk Andi will not be a good movie buddy.”
Hill’s attention jumped back to her eyes and he nodded. “Lead the way.”
Andi calmed herself while she plated the food and set up the TV trays so they could eat in front of the television. Hill brought the drinks into the living room, and before long, the two of them were set up side by side on the couch, the DVD in the player.
She took a quick bite of the pad thai and closed her eyes, the sweet-salty-sour combo making her groan in approval. “Holy crap, this is amazing. This tastes like what my takeout aspires to be when it grows up.”
Hill’s expression transformed, obviously pleased. “I’m glad you like it. It’s been a while since I made it, so I was hoping I remembered the recipe.”
“It’s freaking fantastic. I’m supersmart for making friends with a chef. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.” She took another bite before setting her plate down to cue up the movie.
“So,” Hill said between bites as she scrolled through the menu. “Why DVDs? Wouldn’t streaming be easier?”
“I watch a lot of newer stuff on streaming, but you don’t get the extra features that way,” she said. “So I try to get my favorites on DVD.”
“Makes sense.” He took a sip of his drink. “Tell me why Halloween is my first lesson.”
A rush of enthusiasm went through her, and she realized how much she wanted him to enjoy this. She wanted him to get it. So many people didn’t. “Well, first, it’s a great introduction to a horror staple—the slasher film. The original Halloween was, in my opinion, the start of the golden age of slashers. We get the crazed killer who may have a motive, but his kills are mostly random. Random makes it scarier because it means anyone can be at risk. We get the masked killer who can’t seem to be killed—which pops up again in movies like Friday the 13th and Scream and The Strangers. We have the final-girl trope—meaning the one woman who either defeats or escapes the killer and is the last left standing—and this movie has a great final girl.” She looked over at Hill. “Her journey from sweet to badass is awesome.”