Not like it’d be hard, Nick thought as he sharpened his knife. All I have to do is not hit the bone. Simple enough.
He spit on the whet stone, then leaned back as he continued sliding his blade across it, once side, then the other.
After a few strokes, he took the knife and slid it along his forearm, angled like a razor, and watched his arm hair fall away. Smiling, he stood and smiled at the kitchen table and the dressed turkey.
“Tomorrow, you’re all mine.”
“Really? It’s just a turkey,” his chuckled as she entered the kitchen.