Snow and the Seven Men (Seven Ways to Sin 1)

Humming to myself, I marinated some chicken and chopped the veggies, sautéing onions and peppers in a giant frying pan. I had to laugh at the poor equipment they had in the state-of-the-art kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Seth demanded, wandering in with his eyes wide. He sniffed the air and looked at me with his perpetually sleepy eyes.

“I’m just making dinner,” I told him, and he chuckled. “What?”

“You’re as bad as me,” he chirped, flopping onto a stool at the island. “It’s noon.”

“Fine,” I agreed, shocked to hear that. “Call it lunch.”

“You can call it whatever you want,” Seth replied. “It smells delicious.” He reached over to grab a piece of pita bread. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the concoction in the bowl and then at the pita in his hand.

“What did you do?” he asked again. “What sorcery is this?”

I laughed aloud. “I made some guacamole and fried up the pita since you guys don’t have any tortilla chips.”

“You made guacamole?” he echoed in disbelief. “How? How!”

“I’ll never tell you my secrets,” I replied. “Can you get the others? It’s almost ready.”

But Seth didn’t move, his eyes bulging from his head as he chewed. “You made this?” he choked when he finally swallowed, and my brow furrowed.

“Yeah…is it okay? I was missing some—”

“It’s fucking fantastic!” Seth howled excitedly, and I giggled as he scampered off to collect the others.

I started to lay the plates out on the kitchen table, followed by the fixings for the homemade fajitas, and as I moved the filling from the stove to a bowl in steaming mass, the others started filtering in.

“Sasha, what did you do?” Dan asked, and I shot him a warm smile.

To my surprise, he didn’t return it, and I felt my heart drop a little. I dismissed his expression, realizing that he was probably still stressed out about work matters.

“I made dinner—uh, lunch,” I replied brightly. “I hope everyone likes Mexican.”

“I do!” Harry called, dancing into the kitchen and flopping down into a chair. “This is awesome, Sasha, thank you!”

“You should be resting,” Stevie chided, and Jim ambled in after him. They both seemed to be avoiding my gaze, and I saw that Bash was doing the same.

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “I’m doing much better, and it’s the least I can do.” I looked around, my eyebrows knitting. “Where’s Graham?”

“He’s not hungry,” Stevie said quickly, shooting Dan a look.

But Dan didn’t seem to notice as he reached for a tortilla shell and began to dig in.

The smile on my face began to fade as I looked around the table. Harry and Seth were digging in with gusto, complimenting me extensively while the others were silent.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Harry asked, and I realized I was just standing there, looking at them all.

“Of course,” I replied, moving toward the table. “I-it just feels weird without Graham, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t worry about Graham,” Harry piped. “He won’t starve.”

I looked toward Jim and Stevie again, but they purposely kept their eyes trained on their plate. Dan was looking at his cell phone, but I knew there was no service, so what could he be looking at? Bash, as always, eluded my stare.

A weird uneasiness pushed through me for the first time since arriving at the cabin, and I looked searchingly at each of them, willing them to tell me what was going on, but the only sound which reached my ears was the sound of chewing.

After a tense and awkward lunch, Dan asked me if I needed help cleaning up. I thanked him but refused, hoping that we could grab a minute to talk, but he cited work and left the kitchen.

Seth had already fallen asleep on the couch by the time Stevie and Jim finished their plates, but the stripping duo quickly found an excuse to go also, leaving me alone in the kitchen with Harry.

“I can’t believe they stuck you with the clean-up after that,” Harry muttered, shaking his head.

“It’s fine,” I replied quickly. “You can go too if you want.” A feeling of wistfulness enveloped me when I realized I was going to be alone, but Harry shook his blond head.

“No way! After what you just did for us? I’m doing the dishes. You just sit and relax.”

“I can—”

“I’m not listening!” Harry interrupted, and I smiled, realizing that he wasn’t just being polite.

He’s a charming guy.

“Harry…”

He turned his head to look at me.

“Was it just me, or was there an obscene amount of tension at the table?”

Harry cocked his head in confusion. “Not that I noticed,” he replied. “But I’m probably used to it.”

“Used to it?”

Harry chuckled and threw a dishrag over his shoulder. “You may not have noticed, but we all have very different personality types.”

“Yeah,” I muttered dryly. “I kind of did notice.”

“We weren’t always so defined,” Harry explained, and I found myself leaning across the table to hear him out. Harry sauntered around the side of the counter and joined me at the table, plopping into a chair.