“So, they don’t normally run around with guns and suits?” Noah snorted.
Alistair smiled mysteriously. “Hard to say.”
“Come on.” Noah kneaded the dough again. “That can’t be normal for a businessman, right?”
“Real estate can be very dangerous.” Alistair chuckled. “Truth be told, most of them came from, let’s say, very colorful backgrounds.”
“As in, ahem, gangsters.”
“Maybe one or two,” Alistair teased mysteriously.
“Like Crybaby and her weird murder tattoo?”
“Mmhm. She told you about that?”
“Allegedly.”
“Ha!” Alistair laughed. “I’ve known Crybaby for a very, very long time. Suffice to say that she is the real deal.”
“And Erasmus? You said he trained with Mickey.”
“That he did, but he’s never served anyone except me.”
“That sounds dirty.” Noah stopped kneading the dough, holding his hands out in front of him as if they were covered in slime. He was proud of himself for being able to make the dough from memory, but it was still gross.
“Go wash up.” Alistair got a bowl to put the pasta dough in and sealed the top with clear wrap.
While washing his hands, Noah asked, “And now we what? Wait for it to rise or poof up or something?”
“Exactly so. We let it rest for thirty minutes and then it’ll be time to roll and shape the pasta.”
“Oh, right.” Noah turned off the water and dried his hands. “I guess we can’t just eat the blob of dough, huh?”
“No.”
“Ah, well. What kinda shape are we doing?” Noah came back over to Alistair, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and smiling when Alistair pulled him close. “Macaroni? Rigatoni?”
“Until you’re more comfortable with the process, I think we’re going to go with a simple and classic linguine.” Alistair rubbed Noah’s hips. “It’s fairly simple to create even without a pasta maker.”
“Ugh. My hands are gonna get dirty again, aren’t they?”
“That’s part of the fun, dear Noah.” Alistair kissed him, chuckling under his breath.
“Mm, whatever.” Noah mumbled, but he honestly didn’t care; especially when Alistair kissed him like this. His knees got weak, his heart fluttered, and he would not have complained one bit if Alistair wanted to fuck him there on the counter.
It didn’t happen, unfortunately, and Alistair redirected him to cleaning up the dishes and the counter to get ready for shaping the pasta. Noah learned that wiping the mess onto the floor was frowned upon, and he needed to brush it into his hand to put in the trash.
Alistair was endlessly patient, and he didn’t make Noah feel stupid or talk down to him for not knowing these simple things. He seemed to enjoy teaching Noah, and he took his time with every task to make sure Noah understood them thoroughly.
He showed him how to wash the dishes, making sure the water was the right temperature and how much soap to use. Even with such a mundane chore, Alistair was kind and attentive, and he made sure to let Noah know what a good job he was doing.
The praise did something to Noah; he was warm and happy, and he found himself smiling. He was being good—no, not just good, he was beinggreat, and it was a wonderful feeling.
After they finished cleaning and were still waiting for the dough, Alistair had another new skill to teach Noah: pouring wine.
“The widest part of a wine glass is usually five ounces, which is the correct amount to pour,” Alistair explained as he opened the bottle. “Not every glass, of course, but it’ll give you a good idea of when to stop pouring.”
“I normally don’t stop until I hit the top,” Noah teased. “But I guess that’s not ‘correct,’ huh?”
