Page 64 of The Notecard
I punch him playfully on the arm. Flirty banter. Foreplay.
‘All you have to do is put a little bit of flour on your hands, not too much. You get your dough ball, and using your fingers push down on the dough, leaving a good crust around the edge. Push it out until it’s sort of round, and then you can toss it in the air.’
‘Just like that,’ I say, taking a sip of my wine. ‘So easy.’
Nick tosses his dough in the air like a professional pizzaiolo. It’s impressive. He makes it look easy. I watch, noticing his arms. He isn’t particularly muscly, but he’s got nice arms. Lean and almost hairless. His polo shirt is tight, and I can see the contours of his body beneath. Much like his arms, it looks lean and I imagine fairly hairless too. I wonder if he’s naturally hairless or whether he waxes. He doesn’t seem like the sort to wax. I imagine for a second running my hands over his chest and then down his stomach. It’s flat and smooth. I get a little excited. I have to stop myself. He finishes tossing his pizza, then puts it down on the wooden chopping board. He makes a few adjustments and then it’s done. It looks perfect. Now it’s my turn.
‘Easy peasy,’ I say with a confident smile, but I’m not confident at all. In fact, I’m fairly sure mine will look nothing like his. I take the dough and do the first part. I use my fingers to spread it out, leaving a crust around the edge. I push it out until it looks good. Now comes the hard part. The toss. Nick made it look easy. I put it between my fingers like Nick said, and then I toss it in the air. The dough immediately folds in two, I barely catch it, and it looks far worse than it did before.
‘Fuck,’ I say, and when I look at Nick, he’s smiling. ‘Oh, hilarious Dr Pizza.’
‘That’s what they call me at work.’
‘Dr Pizza? They call you that? Who do you want to treat that awful head wound, sir? Oh, here comes Dr Pizza,’ I say, and Nick laughs.
‘Let me show you.’
He comes behind me and puts his arms around me. It’s like that scene from the film, Ghost, when they’re making pottery. Only this time we’re tossing pizza. It’s nice. Having his body against mine. Feeling his hands on mine. He smells good too. Whatever aftershave he’s wearing, it’s woody and masculine. Hints of sandalwood. He helps me unfold the pizza, and then he puts my hands on the dough in the right place. He shows me the technique, his body still against mine, his hands on mine, like a sexy puppeteer. We go through it a few times. I feel his breath on my neck. The warmth from his body on mine. His hips against me. His aftershave. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I feel my body flush. Tossing pizza with Nick is surprisingly hot. After a few moments, he lets go. I don’t want him to, but he does. I have to toss the dough again. This time I toss the pizza in the air, it spins around, and I catch it between my hands.
‘I did it!’ I say excitedly.
‘You did,’ says Nick with a gorgeous smile. ‘Now do that a couple more times, and we’ll be good to add the toppings.’
I’m getting the hang of it, but more importantly, Nick and I are finally relaxed around each other. Nick puts on some music. Jack Johnson. It’s nice in Nick’s kitchen making pizza to Jack Johnson. Drinking wine. It’s warm from the oven. I can still feel him on me. I feel silly. I feel young. I like it. I finally finish my dough. Nick helps shape it a little bit, and now we have two round pizza doughs just waiting for their toppings. I take a sip of wine. I look at Nick, at his lips, and I want to kiss him. I love this because it feels normal. Like something normal people might be doing. Ever since James and I broke up, life has felt anything but normal. It’s as if life stopped making sense. Going travelling for me is almost like a reset. My life is broken and like any good IT person worth their grain of salt would advise, have you tried turning it off and back on again?
Nick
We’re sitting on the sofa drinking our wine and talking. We’re waiting for the pizza to cook. I have my legs crossed. Meg has her knees pulled up onto the sofa. I have my arm over the back of the sofa, and Meg’s head is tilted as she talks to me. She casually twists a strand of hair between her fingers. I feel like we’re a sculpture titled: Couple on Date.
‘Favourite TV show?’ says Meg.
‘Favourite ever? Of all time?’
‘That’s right.’
‘That’s too hard. How can I possibly pick one?’
‘Mine are Grey’s Anatomy first, then Friends. If I had to pick a third, it would be the American version of The Office.’
‘I can see you’ve put a lot of thought into this.’
‘These are important things, Nick. Favourite album?’
‘Umm, well, let me see, I love The Beatles. Favourite Beatles album, maybe Rubber Soul?’
‘My favourite album is Taylor Swift, 1989.’
‘Surprising.’
‘It’s genius. Favourite book?’
‘The only thing I’ve read since I was fifteen is medical books. Do they count?’
‘No way,’ says Meg. ‘Mine is Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, followed by Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince, followed by…’
‘Is it another Harry Potter book?’
‘Maybe,’ says Meg with a smile.
