Page 58 of Defying Ella
“Good girl,” he whispered and my entire body clenched. Then his hands pressed against mine and oh, what I’d give to not have them covered in sticky pieces of flour.
“You need to mix it first. Kneading it like this won’t get us far.” He gripped my hands and guided them around the bowl, humming his approval when I did as instructed.
Distractions. I needed a distraction badly.
“How did you learn to bake?”
His grip slackened a little on my hands and regretwhispered through me. I tensed, waiting for him to back away, to change the subject and call it quits.
“My mother taught me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“That’s nice. Mine tried, but as you can see, it didn’t end well.”
“Sorry to burst your happy bubble there, but it was more of a necessity than mother-son bonding time.” Loathing dripped from his words, but he resumed guiding my hands around the bowl. “We didn’t have a lot of money, and my dad smoke and drink it away whenever he got the chance. You get more food out of a bag of flour and a box of yeast than you do buying a loaf of bread for the same price.”
My throat closed up at the very idea of him struggling.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, but please don’t feel sorry for me.” He squeezed me with his elbows. “I survived. We all did. My mother no longer works two jobs, and she thankfully divorced my waste of space dad.”
Words failed me. Yes, my dad missed a huge chunk of my childhood touring with one band or another, but we’d never truly wanted for anything.
“I feel terrible for calling us kindred spirits now.” I tried to gauge his expression subtly but without turning my head I couldn’t even see him. “My upbringing was incredibly privileged and safe compared to yours.”
“Don’t,” he whispered, leaning his head against the side of mine. “Don’t take it back. Neither of us is perfect, Ella. Neither of us have it all figured out. That’s pretty close, as far as I’m concerned.”
If he kept saying sweet things like that, I’d turn into a blubbering messandlose my heart to him.
“Okay, I won’t… As long as you tell me the next time something triggers your anxiety.”
Silence followed and his hands froze. I smiled at his predictable hesitation.
“Fine,” he grumbled.
Happy with his fast agreement, I started working the dough again.
“It’s done, Sparky. You’ll overwork it if you keep going.”
I glanced down, expecting to see the sludgy mess and got a surprise. Miraculously, the dough had morphed into a smooth ball. My nails were still caked in the stuff but at least it wasn’t plastering my hands anymore.
Jared released my hands and stepped away. “We’ll cover it and leave it alone for half an hour and then I’ll show you how to knead it.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, my gaze riveted to the bowl.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I’d never gotten that far before. My horror at the feel of the stuff gluing to my hands had always gotten the better of me. With Jared’s arms wrapped around me, it had all faded.
His expression gentled, and he smiled when I turned towards him, my wonder plain to read in my slack-jawed face.
“Anytime, Sparky.” He reached for my messy hands and guided me towards the sink. “How about we clean the dough off before it dries and I have to guide you through a freak out?”
I nodded. “Good idea. I can’t even stand mud on my boots.”
“I know.” Jared chuckled. “I tracked it into your flat after a run, remember?”
My lips twitched. “As if I’d forget the trail of footprints you left in my hallway.”
I definitely had freaked out that day. It was day three of our week together, and I’d woken to him missing. I’d just convinced myself he’d finally ducked out when I spotted a new duffle bag on my bedroom floor and trainer shapedfootprints leading into my bedroom and bathroom. Only then did I register the sound of running water.
