Page 38 of Enchanted Heir
I began with the scoops of flour, not taking the time to make sure I didn’t spill or caring at all when I stirred a little out of my bowl. There was a time to work cleanly, but when we were trying to hurry to get the dough rising, this was not that time.
“The water’s boiled,” Tilly offered from the kitchen.
“Great,” I hollered back. “Could you see if you can find a glass bowl for it to go in the oven?”
She laughed, and it startled me enough that I turned toward the doorway to the dining room.
“You’re creating a warm and moist environment for the dough. You smart, smart, girl.”
I felt myself smiling. “Don’t get too excited, Tilly. It’s not like you to praise my skills until you’re tasting the results.”
“Fair enough,” she said over her shoulder before heading back around the corner to get back to work.
As the dough started to become sticky, I instructed Krew on what to look for, and how to knead the dough. “You need strong and sure motions with the dough,” I told him. “You cannot overwork it, so you have to make every touch count.”
He made a choking sound that had me glaring at him.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Krew.”
He shrugged innocently. “Who knew there were so many life lessons to be learned from bread making?”
He began tentatively kneading his batch of dough, watching what I was doing and trying to imitate it. But he was using more of his fingers and less of the heel of his hands. “Do you play the piano?” I asked.
He didn’t move his eyes from the dough. “I used to, yes, why?”
I smirked and moved closer to him. “Because it looks as if you are trying to force the bread to play a certain note. I turned his hand over, my sticky hands touching his. “Use this part,” I said, brushing the heel of his hand.
He did as I asked and though it was highly improved, still his bread was far too sticky. He was a smart enough man to notice it too.
“What am I doing wrong?”
I smiled at him. “It’s all in the knead. Give me a minute to finish this batch and I’ll show you.”
He gave me a nod.
In less than five minutes, I had mine done. I could just finish kneading his in five minutes or less, or I could take a few extra minutes and show him how.
I decided to get my batch rising, and then I’d teach Krew how rather than just taking it over like I was inclined to do on a strict deadline. “Let me walk this batch to the oven quick, then I’ll help with yours,” I offered.
As I turned the corner to the kitchen, Maurice was booming orders, and two pans of vegetables were sizzling on the stovetop. Fortunately, there were two ovens in this kitchen. One currently warming a ham, and one for my bread. I put my bowl in the oven and spun back for Krew.
“May I?” I asked when I returned.
He gave me a nod and took a step back.
I sprinkled some more flour on the top of the dough and said, “Give me your hands.”
He did. But in order for me to move his hands in the proper motion, his arms had to wrap around me, effectively trapping me. I hadn’t realized when I thought to do this how close we would have to be. It was something my mother had done often when I was growing up to teach me, except Krew and I were both full-sized humans, neither of us a child. But oh well, if anyone from the kitchen saw it, it only furthered our ruse.
So I pressed his hand down with my own, showing him the correct motion and way to scoot the bread so that he didn’t just knead the same portion of the dough.
We couldn’t have been in that position for more than a minute, but I noticed Krew had gone deathly quiet and still behind me toward the end of my moving his hands around with my own.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” I said, putting my hands in the air and removing them from his.
I could feel him shake his head from behind me, feel his words in my hair. “No. You didn’t.”
“Then wh—”
