Her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink as she looked at the mess of flour on my shirt.
“Right! New plan? We live with flour.”
While I made the dough, Bianca worked on the cookies. When I looked over at her, I saw her biting her bottom lip as she concentrated.
“How is it going over there?” Bianca asked, glancing over at me as the smell of garlic filled the air.
“Great, the dough is almost ready to rest,” I said, and showed my hands, which were coated in sticky dough. “This is the messiest part,” I added.
“Says the guy covered in flour.”
“You’re one to talk. You have flour in your hair and on your cheek.”
She giggled, then swiped at her face. “Did I get it?”
“Other side.”
I watched as she tried again, missing it completely as I dried my now clean hands on the kitchen towel.
“Here, come here,” I said, reaching out without even thinking, my thumb brushing the flour from her cheek. I still had my hand raised, my thumb barely touching her skin as she looked up at me with those eyes. I could see the pulse at the base of her throat and felt my heart kick against my ribs.
“There, got it,” I said, my voice coming out a little rougher than I’d intended.
She swallowed hard, a pink hue covering her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, staring at me a little longer before she turned back to her cookies.
I turned back toward the pan, stirring the garlic to keep it from burning as I willed my pulse to settle. It was only a friendly gesture; it wasn’t as if I’d kissed her. Except the air felt charged and things felt weird between us now, unlike when we’d been at the coffee shop.
“Okay! Cookies are ready for the oven. What do you need me to help with next?” she asked, washing her hands.
“Um, watch the sauce. Stir it while I roll out the pasta?” I asked, just as I dumped the rest of the ingredients into the pot.
“Sure, I can do that. God, this smells incredible. What is in there?” she asked, giving the pot a stir.
“Crushed tomatoes, garlic, basil, a bit of wine, and a few secret ingredients.”
“Um, you can’t say secret ingredients and not elaborate.”
“If I told you, they wouldn’t be secret, now would they?”
“Callahan, this isn’t how friendship works.”
“The air of mystery is very important,” I said, winking.
“Come on, tell me,” she said, moving beside me, giving me a gentle hip-check.
“Alright, fine, there is a pinch of sugar to cut the acidity and red pepper flakes to add heat. The real secret, though, is the parmesan rind.”
“Oh, wow, your grandmother taught you well.”
“She’d be happy to hear that,” I said as I ran the first piece of dough through the roller.
“That’s neat. I’ve never watched anyone make pasta from scratch before.”
“Would you like to try?” I asked.
“Are you going to judge me if I am terrible?”
I chuckled. “I promise nothing.”
