Page 39 of That First Flight
I take a step back. “I never knew that.”
Macey moves to take her place in front of the stove, stirring the weird vegetable a few more times before putting it in another bowl with a bunch of other ingredients already mixed together.
“What’s that?” I ask over her shoulder.
As if she didn’t expect me to be standing right there, her body stiffens and I can’t help but place my hands on her shoulders to help her relax. As soon as my palms make contact with her skin, her chest rises and falls slowly as if she’s breathing a sigh of relief.
“This is the filler that goes inside the ravioli,” Macey finally says as she mixes the spinach into the white-filling.
She takes a step away from me and I find myself following her just to be near her. I never liked the idea of cooking. It’s always a mess to prepare and cook the food, and then there’s the cleanup of all the pans and plates you used.
It’s always sounded so tedious to me, until now.
She moves to her next station that’s set up on the island, where she has what looks like the outside of the ravioli laid out. She takes small teaspoons of the filling and places them onto the dough before folding it over and flattening it over the filling.
She whips out a weird-looking contraption that looks like a mini pizza cutter with ridges on it. Then, she slices her filled raviolis into a square shape.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I say with amazement. Because that’s just about the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure I’ll want to eat frozen raviolis again after this.
“Pretty cool, huh?” She smiles up at me.
I don’t have any words to say back to her other than a nod, because right now her eyes are boring into my soul. I’m fighting every urge in my body not to lean down and place my lips on hers and kiss her the way I’ve thought about one too many times already.
As if she’s fighting off the same thought, she quickly averts her gaze back to the raviolis, bringing each piece next to the water already boiling on the stove.
“This is the part I keep screwing up,” Macey admits.
As if she’s channeling her inner badass, she takes a long deep breath and releases it before scooping the raviolis gently into the water. She doesn’t take her eyes off the pot for one second.
My eyes stay on her, watching her every move. The way she so delicately drops each stuffed pasta into the water. The way she concentrates on the boiling water to make sure none of the raviolis break open while she stirs.
“Can you turn that burner on for me?” She nods to the top right corner of the stove, not taking her eyes off the pot. “It’s for the sauce. If these come out as good as I think they will, we will need that sauce.”
I fire up the burner at the same time she scoops them out one by one into the strainer in the sink. I don’t know much about all of this, but I know I should be stirring the sauce so it gets hot evenly. I think I saw it on a TV show once.
As I stir the red sauce with the wooden ladle that was sitting to the side of it, I look over to see Macey almost crying over the raviolis in the strainer. “Macey?”
She shakes her head to bring herself back from wherever her head just went. “I’m good. I’m really good.” Now she’s smiling so wide that Ireallywant to walk over to her, wrap my arms around her body and claim her lips as mine.
“They came out okay?” I ask.
She looks up at me, eyes glassy and filled with pride. “They came out perfect. Thank god, because I’m starving,” she says with a groan.
The noise goes right to my cock, and that’s when the ladle slips from my hands and falls into the pan and splashes over the front of me. My face burns from the heat of the red sauce and I can’t help but scream out from the initial contact.
“Oh my god, it burns!” I bellow, frantically turning the heat off and moving around the kitchen to find a dishrag.
Macey can’t stop laughing. She’s doubled down and almost on the floor in tears from laughing so hard.
I find a rag and wipe my face before I develop third degree burns. “I’m on fire, Macey Evans, and you’re laughing at my pain.”
“I’m–I’m…” She tries to speak, but can’t find the breath to do it. When I finish wiping my face, I find her on the floor with her back against the cabinet and still in a fit of hysterics. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why that was so funny.” She attempts to school her features. “I’m sorry you’re hurt.” As soon as the last word leaves her lips, she snorts out another laugh like she just can’t hold back.
NowI’mlaughing.
I notice the flour sitting on the counter above her head. She’s laughing so hard that she doesn’t notice when I pinch some between my fingers. I crouch down until I’m eye level with her and she looks up at me with happy tear soaked eyes.
That’s when I flick the flour at her.