Pamela Browning - The Treasure Man

“We’re making twice-baked potatoes,” Ben said. “You can help me put the filling back in the shells.” He handed her a spoon.

She wasn’t much of a cook herself, though Tara had often said that she made the best fajitas in the world. Ben’s delegation of duties took her by surprise.

“I’m not sure I—”

“Of course you can,” he said, demonstrating how to spoon the filling out of the bowl and smooth it into the potato skin.

“I’ve always been such a klutz at things like this,” Chloe said apologetically.

“You must be manually dexterous, or you wouldn’t be good at making jewelry,” Ben pointed out, looking over her shoulder. “You’re doing fine.”

Chloe decided that she liked the job after all, and when she set her stuffed potatoes beside Ben’s, no one could have told the difference.

“High five,” he said, holding up his hand, and she slapped him one in exuberance. She was beginning to feel really comfortable around him, as if they’d known each other for a long time. Which they had, of course, but now they related as adult to adult.

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