Tasty Pickle: An Opposites Attract Romantic Comedy by Knight JJ

Author:Knight, JJ
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-20T00:00:00+00:00

21

AXEL

It turns out I’m useless in a kitchen.

I always thought I had a decent set of skills for a dude raised by a mom who did everything. I make the occasional meal kit and toss inventive salads full of nuts and seeds. I’ve pan fried a steak multiple times, and I can make pasta and mix it with a pre-made sauce like a boss.

But on Tuesday, when I pull my first pillow of dough out of the proofing oven to see if it has risen properly, Filo throws up his hands like I’ve cursed in front of my kindergarten teacher. “What have you done?”

Calypso bites her lip as she sets her metal bowl on the block. Her dough is perfectly rounded and pale, a smattering of flour across the surface.

I plunk mine down next to it. It looks like someone puked banana pudding.

Filo peers at Calypso’s. “Very nice. Round. Good elasticity. Perfect shape. You are ready to bake.”

He turns to me. “What did you do to it? A witch’s curse?”

“I made it like you said.”

“Is there yeast?”

“Yes, I measured it out.”

“Did you use warm water?”

“Yes, it almost scalded my hand!”

Calypso turns at that, her mouth in the shape of an “o.”

Uh, oh.

Filo’s face goes scarlet. “Scalded! Did I say hot water? Did I say water so hot that it will burn?”

“No.”

“What did I say, Axel Armstrong, nature hiker?”

“Warm water.”

“Warm activates the yeast!” Filo’s fingers swirl in the air, like he’s making magic. “Hot water kills it!”

“So I killed the yeast.”

“You killed the yeast!”

“Can I put more in there?”

“It has already been proofed!” Filo picks up the hot bowl with a dish towel and dumps the dough in the compost. “Again!”

Okay. I’ll do it again.

“Calypso,” Filo says, “You may move on to the wheat bread. I am going to check on my other crew.” He heads out the door, still gesturing like he’s continuing his lecture to me.

Calypso and I wait until he’s gone, then burst out laughing.

She lifts her finger in the air. “You killed the yeast, you murderer! And the dough perished.”

“I am a cereal killer!” I dunk my hands in the flour and dash around the counter, aiming for her.

She shrieks and takes off, racing out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

“You cannot run from the man who kills the yeast!” I trap her in the corner and she doubles over with laughter when I smack her ass with the flour, leaving huge white handprints on the back of her apron.

She looks down. “You’re leaving your mark on me!”

“I’ll do more than that!” I press her into the corner, my mouth on hers. She relaxes immediately, melting against my body. She tastes of the pinches of dough we ate to make sure they weren’t too salty. She’s like the perfect meal, warm and smelling of fresh bread and homemade dinners.

I want to devour her. I deepen the kiss, my hands on her back. I want to know her body better, touch more of her. But she gets unsure in these moments, as if she can’t quite let go.

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