Page 21 of A Heart to Find
“That’s easy. I can boil spaghetti like it’s an art form.” She giggled at her own words, but stopped laughing when the instructor told them to get a bowl and the bag of flour from the shelf beneath their workspace.
“Flour?” She practically gulped.
“That’s generally what they use to make pasta.” The devil had the nerve to wink at her.
And her insides had the nerve to do a flip in response.
“Okay, I get that. But why go through the trouble of making-making it when it’s a buck a box? Cheaper on sale.”
Jared’s eyes shifted over Keira’s right shoulder, and dread consumed her as she turned to find the instructor standing there, silently listening in on Keira’s commentary.
“Pasta from a box can hardly be called pasta. You will taste the difference. Don’t be surprised if you never go back to your old ways.” And with a tap of her wooden spoon on her own palm, the instructor, Lucia, drifted back to the front of the room. Her not-entirely-gentle correction stung Keira’s cheeks, and Jared’s obnoxious attempt at hiding his laughter brought heat to the tips of her ears.
Oh, she’d get him back.
She refused to look at him as she followed Lucia’s direction, wanting to prove her dedication to the art of pasta making after that terribly timed faux pas. Jared set up the rolling machine, which looked like a medieval torture device. She continued rolling out the sticky dough until holes started forming in the middle.
“Psst. I don’t think that’s supposed to happen.”
She glared at him until laughter bubbled up in her throat. “I don’t suppose it is.”
She collected the dough and squished it between her hands, reforming the original ball. Jared sprinkled more flour over the ball and onto the counter.
Lucia made her way around the room, complimenting everyone on their dough and their technique.
She stopped short when she got to the mountain of flour in front of Keira.
“I told him to stop adding flour…” Keira wished her voice didn’t come out so weak. And squeaky. But that’s what happened when she tried to contain a poorly timed laugh. Just like when one of her students said something wildly inappropriate but insanely funny.
“Add water. You two will have enough spaghetti to feed the entire island.” She started walking away, but Keira didn’t miss her muttered, “If anyone will want to eat it.”
Jared bit his flour-coated knuckle to prevent his laugh from escaping.
“This is all your fault,” she teased. “I’d say holey pasta dough is better than this mountain of dry flour you’ve created. Now we’re going to be at this all day.”
“My bad, my bad. Maybe I have ulterior motives.”
“To make us have to eat spaghetti for the rest of the week?”
“To spend more time with you?”
She rolled her eyes, but a warm glow started behind her belly button and spread in the general direction of her heart.
Jared added water to the dough and took a big chunk of it, rolling and squishing it against the floured surface.
“One of us had better learn to cook if we have any hope of survival.”
“I don’t see why that should matter. We won’t be together after these two weeks, and they have plenty of prepared food on this island for us.”
Tension rolled through the air and landed with a thud in the bottom of her gut. Why had she said that? Why had he? Though her words were true, she’d promised herself not to cause any hurt feelings.
When he next spoke, his tone was lighter. As if the tense moment hadn’t happened.
“Remember that time we tried to make pancakes for dinner when we were taking care of your little sister while your mother went away for the weekend?”
“You mean when we burnt them so badly that the fire department came to rescue us?”
“And we had to use your babysitting money from the weekend before to take the whining teenager to the diner?”
