It’s my turn to smirk as he straightens from the counter, looking baffled by the word I just said.
“Agnolotti.” I say it again, slower this time. “It’s a stuffed pasta that’s from the part of Italy my family is from.”
He slowly shakes his head. “Nope. Still can’t figure out what you’re saying. But okay, let’s make some anyo-whatti.”
I giggle. “Are you going to even try to say it properly?”
In response, he picks up a cherry tomato and pops it in his mouth. “Nope.”
I turn back to the ingredients laid out in front of me. “Fine. Anyway, Gianni and I were experimenting with different fillings and sauces so he could put some new dishes on his menu. That night, I was lying in bed and thought of something I want to try, so I was hoping you’d want to make it together.”
“I love that idea,” he says and there it is. That smile he only gives to me.
I lick my lips and then gesture to the ingredients laid out in front of us. “Okay. So, first things first, we need to make some pasta dough.”
A short while later, the counter is covered in flour and so is Kai's black shirt.
I giggle. “I honestly don't know how you ended up with more flour on you than in the actual dough.”
He’s so fast, I don’t realize what he’s doing before he’s picked up some flour between his fingers and thrown it at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you've got just as much on you as I do.”
I gasp in indignation. “I do not,” I reply primly, but then I glance down at my shirt, and sure enough, it's also dusted with the white stuff. “That's your fault,” I say as he moves to pick up some more flour.
“Kai, don't you dare!”
Before it can turn into a full-on food fight, a timer goes off.
“Stop,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. “I have to stir the granita.”
“The what?”
I don't answer, turning instead to the freezer and pulling out the small metal container that holds the fruit puree I made earlier. “Granita.” I give the contents a brisk stir. “It's basically blended up berries with a little bit of sugar and some water. It needs to freeze, but I have to stir it every hour.”
“So it's like ice cream without the cream,” he says, peering over my shoulder and sneaking a finger in to steal a taste.
“Sort of. More like a sorbet, but since I won’t be using an ice cream maker, this one will have more texture. And there won’t be any left if you keep sampling it.” I smack his hand away as he goes in for another taste. He backs away, sucking his finger. I put the dessert back in the freezer and return to the pasta.
“Focus, Yamaki. It’s time to make the filling.”
“Pulling out the last names, are we?”
“If it makes you behave,” I tease, bumping his hip with my own as I spread out the ingredients for the filling.
“Where’s the fun in that?” His voice drops low, and I can feel the warmth of his breath in my ear as he moves behind me. He’s covering me with flour, I just know it. Still, I lean back into him, my eyes closing as his hands drag up and down my body.
“Focus, Murphy. I’m hungry.” The slap to my ass is unexpected and has me yelping in surprise as my eyes fly open. Kai moves back beside me and looks over with an all-too-innocent expression. “What do we do, Chef?”
I exhale and push away the desire he sparks in me so easily. “First, we need to cut the corn kernels from the cob.”
He follows instructions well, and with only one more sneaky taste test, Kai manages to prepare the creamy corn filling. Things go downhill again when I try to teach him how to fold the complex pasta shape and we both end up wearing some of the filling.
But it’s fun. Being with Kai is fun. And comforting. And makes it seem as if the rest of the world, any worries or questions, any voices in my head causing me stress simply disappear.
After the pasta is all formed, we throw some chicken on the grill, I stir the granita again, and Kai makes a simple side salad.
Then we eat.
“Damn, Iz, this is incredible.” Kai shovels another mouthful of chicken and pasta into his mouth, looking at me in amazement. He swallows and takes a sip of water. “We made that? Holy crap.”
