Page 56 of Finding Us
I’m wearing the only apron we have, so I duck into my room and grab one of my T-shirts for him to put on over his uniform.
Once I remove his jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair, I undo his tie and roll up his sleeves before slipping my tee over his head.
“Why do I gotta wear this?” he asks, scrunching up his face.
“To keep your uniform clean.” I lead him towards the sink. “Come wash your hands.”
“Okay, Jazzie.”
He’s such a good boy, and with every minute I spend with him, he steals another tiny piece of my heart. All the more reason to try and be friends with his father. I’d be crushed if I could no longer see him.
After dragging one of the dining chairs over, I lift him up so he is the right height. He watches me scrape the dough out of the bowl, and onto the floured countertop, dividing it in two.
“I’m going to teach you how to knead the dough first, then we’ll roll it out and add the pizza toppings.”
“What’s knead mean?”
“It’s like mixing with your hands.” That’s probably the easiest way to explain it without getting too technical.
I sprinkle some flour over the top of his ball of dough. “Hold your hands out like this. That’s it, palms up.” He giggles when I dust his hands with flour as well. “That’s to help stop the dough sticking to your skin.”
“It’s all squishy,” he says, poking his finger into his ball.
“It is. Watch me do mine first, then I’ll help you with yours.” He gives me his undivided attention. “Flatten your ball out a bit, then fold it in half.” He copies what I do. “Now, using this part of your hand—” I point to the heal of my palm. “—push down,” I say before rolling it through the dough.
I bend his fingers back slightly and guide his hand down to the dough. He laughs again as he mimics what I just did. “This is fun,” he says.
“Now, turn your dough around, fold it in half again, then knead.”
“You’re doing yours so fast.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice. The more you do it, the better you’ll get.”
When someone knocks on the door, I wipe my hands on my apron. “Keep going, I’ll see who it is.” I’m surprised to find Mason standing on the other side. “You’re early.”
“My four-thirty meeting cancelled, so I thought I’d come and get Blake.”
“Oh.”
I intake a sharp breath when he reaches out and lightly skims his thumb over my cheek. “You had flour on your face.”
“Oh, we’re making pizzas.”
“No wonder my kid is obsessed with you.” He follows me into the kitchen where we find Blake frowning with concentration as he works his dough. “Hey, buddy.”
“Hi, Dad. We’re making pizzas from scraff.”
“I think you mean scratch.”
“Huh?”
“The word is scratch.”
“Like when you’re itchy.”
“Yes.”
“That’s weird.”
