“Then why are we here?”
“Besides to soak in the culture?” He hooks his own apron around his neck. I’m only temporarily distracted by the muscles of his arms bunching and flexing as he loops the apron strings around his back and to his front again, expertly tying a neat bow over his abdomen. “To teach you a new skill,” he says, bringing me back to reality.
“I have plenty of skills.”
“Okay, fine, so I can stand behind you, put my hands on yours, and help you knead pasta dough like a scene inGhost.”
I lost my ability to inhale immediately after “put my hands on yours,” but I force myself to draw in a ragged breath. “That was pottery.”
“Yeah, and this—” he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear and I’m pretty sure I’ve erupted into flames, “—is pasta. You’re going to love it.”
“I’ve had pasta before.”
“Trust me, this will be leagues better.”
He could serve me undercooked boxed macaroni right now and so long as I got to be at a table with him, it would be the best pasta of my life.
“Hello everyone,” a woman says in a thick Italian accent. She claps her hands together and the room falls silent as we all turn to look her way. “I am Celeste. Welcome to my home. I am excited to teach you how to make my favorite foods.” She has her own apron on, her black curls are piled on top of her head, and she somehow has a serious, no-nonsense look while also looking like she’d pull me in for the best hug of my life.
I already love and respect her.
She goes through the history of pasta, the ingredients on the table, the steps we’ll be taking. I’m sure Reid knows all of this information already, but he hangs on her every word, a peaceful look on his face as she talks. I wonder if he feels in his element, if wearing an apron again and being surrounded by ingredients and kitchen tools just feels so natural to him that it immediately puts him at ease.
I find myself sneaking glances at him as Celeste explains how to properly knead the pasta dough. After the third glance, he catches me, but I don’t look away. I don’t feel worried about his reaction or embarrassed to be caught. Mostly because when he catches me staring, a pleased smile crosses his lips and his arm instinctively snakes around my waist, tugging me against his side as he refocuses on Celeste’s lecture.
And for a brief moment I let myself imagine being back in his kitchen at home, trying to knead out pasta dough together on one of his nights off as we sip wine and listen to music.
Then Celeste claps her hands and says, “Alright, you may begin.” And just like that the vision has popped and I’m back to reality.
Reid reluctantly drops his arm from around me, effectively dropping the temperature in the room by a good five degrees without his touch. I eye the ingredients for anything else to look at besides him and his dark hair and his amused eyes and his gorgeous smile.
“Alright, chef,” I say to Reid. “Let’s see you work.”
“We’re in this together, remember?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I want the full show. Do you crack eggs with one hand?”
He rolls his eyes and dumps a pile of flour in the middle of the table. “No, I do not crack eggs with one hand.”
“Can you?”
He scoffs. “Of course Ican. I just don’t. It’s not as efficient for me.”
I push the carton of eggs toward him with a challenging look. He looks down at them, then his eyes flick back up to mine. “You’re really going to make me do this?” he asks.
“You can’t take me to a cooking class and not expect me to want you to show off. Come on, show me your tricks.”
“I’m not a show horse, Jane.”
“No, you’re a chef. Come on, impress me.”
And there’s something in that last challenge that has his eyes glittering and the corner of his lips turning up into a smile. He glances around the room at the other participants perfectly measuring ingredients and reading paper instructions, then he looks back at me with a new look of encouragement.
“Fine. But you’re not allowed to kiss me until it’s all done.”
“Who says I was going to kiss you?”
“Trust me,” he murmurs in a low, tantalizing voice. “If I show off, you’re going to want nothing more than to kiss me.”
