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“Do you want to do the kneading?” she asks.
“Sure, bunny. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’m at your service.”
She has me hold out my hands so she can dust them with cool flour. Then, my girlfriend instructs me on how to knead the dough, telling me to gather it in my palm and the smoosh it gently until it’s smooth.
“Like how I would squeeze a woman’s breasts, right?” I joke. “No problem.”
“Damon!” she exclaims, appalled at first, but then she chortles so hard she snorts. It’s cute and I join in too. By the time our laughter subsides, our faces are red and there are tears in our eyes.
“How like a man,” Rachel says, dabbing at her eye with a napkin. “Fine, yes. Think of it like that if you need to. In the meantime, I’ll get the casserole dish oiled up.”
I’m more than happy to let my thoughts drift to Rachel’s full breasts as I knead the dough. After only a little while, it comes together in a smooth ball.
“Great work, big guy,” she praises. “Now let’s leave that to proof for a little bit, and in the meantime, we can clean up this flour.” She takes the bowl that she’d started the dough in and uses it to cover the moist ball, accidentally spilling a bit of leftover flour onto the floor.
“Oops! Sorry. I just got your kitchen all dirty.”
I grab the broom and give her a smile. “Don’t worry, I got this.”
My girlfriend wipes most of the excess flour off the counter while I sweep up, the two of us working like clockwork. We make a good team as she measures out the pizza sauce, and then begins to chop up the cheese. By the time I’ve finished sweeping, she hasn’t made much progress getting the cheese into little cubes, so I take over for her.
“You’re so strong,” she says, watching as I slice through the thick block like it’s butter.
“Of course,” I say. “I tell the guys at work that I work out to keep fit. Actually, I work out just so I can impress gorgeous women with my cheese-chopping skills.”
She giggles again, and I love the sound of her melodic tinkle. My apartment is usually dull with just me in it. Even when I have guests over, I never feel this at ease, and that’s how I know how precious my time with Rachel is. With the lovely woman around, everything falls in place. Everything hums smoothly, as if this is the way things were meant to be, and I never want her to stop smiling. I never want her to worry about anything ever again, and now I’m even more sure that she needs my gift.
A little later, after the cheese is cubed, the dough is proofed, and the oven is pre-heated to 500 degrees, the time has finally come for us to roll out the pizza. My beautiful brunette presses the dough into the casserole dish and spreads it out with her fingertips until it reaches all four sides. I bring the rest of the ingredients closer to her so we can start assembling.
“First the pepperoni,” she sings to the tune of the “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” She peels open the package and grabs a few handfuls. We layer the pepperoni over the dough until it’s completely covered, looking a bit like someone’s acne-speckled skin. “And next, we take the cheese,” she says as I pick up the cutting board and dump the cheese in one big heap into the pan. She laughs and spreads the cheese out more evenly. “And finally, we pour the sauce and put the pizza in the oven.”
I chuckle at the lack of rhythm in the song. “Wow. You weren’t even trying with that last line.”
She sticks her tongue out at me and finishes everything up before sliding the dish into the oven. “Everyone’s a critic,” she sasses, swinging her hip to close the oven door. “But I just tell them to mind their own beeswax.”
I laugh, and fifteen minutes fly before the timer on Rachel’s phone goes off. We’ve only just finished cleaning up and putting the dishes away when she pulls on a pair of baking mitts and opens the oven. Heat rolls out in waves, and I pretend to wipe sweat off my forehead. She just rolls her eyes while removing the pizza and putting it onto a rack to cool.
“So dramatic,” she giggles. “You could be an actor.”
My apartment is immediately filled with the aroma of cheese and meat and fresh bread, and I stare in awe at the molten, bubbling, mouth-watering monstrosity we’ve made.
“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I say.
Rachel puts her hands on her hips while holding back a smile. “Funny, I thought I was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”
