Oddly sexual if read in the correct tone:
[Blake] Lively looks at my apples, which I am peeling and chopping with a knife that could cut a bicycle in half. I’ve sliced my thumb a little bit, but I don’t think she sees the little slit of blood. But then she stares at my hands. I ask her what’s wrong.
“I’m just making sure you’re doing it right.”
She picks at my pile of sliced apples.
“By the way, I’m not having any of this nonsense,” she says, pointing to a few flecks of peel that I missed. “No peel.” Then she starts chopping, too, the two of us, with the sharpest knives you can imagine, side by side, chopping apples.
Lively stops chopping and looks up in thought, and it seems appropriate for me to stop, too.
