But I don’t need to bark. At my glare, she retreats with a muttered, “Sorry.”
Cynnie grins and I’m reminded of what Brenna said. I’m not here to inspire competition nor do I want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
“It’s okay, Mary Lisa,” I say. “I’ll do it when my hands are clean. Maybe you could help me by setting out the plastic wrap for the dough?”
I nod at the container of wrap positioned at the end of the “dough station.”
“Of course, Max.” Looking a little brighter, she moves around behind me to pick up the wrap. When she opens the box, I check to make sure it’s not one of those with the metal cutting edge, but it’s not. It’s a snap-cut, which should be fine even if she gets her fingers in the way.
The dough has turned soft and smooth under my hands the way it says on the instruction card, so I gather it into a ball and move it to the plastic wrap that Mary Lisa sets out. She wraps the dough neatly and I praise her as I clean off my hands. Ginger writes our names on a piece of masking tape and sticks it on our dough, then moves the ball to a heating plate. I vacate my seat so that Yumiko in her dragon romper can take my place and move around the end of the table to where Cynnie’s sitting.
“Cynnie, do you need any help?”
She’s still wrist-deep in dough, which has not turned into a soft, smooth ball. She bites her lips as she looks up at me and spreads her fingers displaying the sticky strands connecting them.
“I think I done it wrong,” she says.
I pull a chair over so I can sit next to her. “It doesn’t look wrong. I think you just need to kneed it more. Would you like me to help you?”
She nods.
I plunge my hands back into wet dough and help her kneed it smooth. To avoid alienating Mary Lisa, I have her do the honors again with the plastic wrap.
Cynnie’s hands are still gummed to the wrist, so I gather up some paper towels as I rise from the table and give the station to Emily and Logan.
“Would you like help cleaning your hands?” I ask Cynnie.
“Yes, pease.”
The tiny lisp stops my heart again.
I towel off her hands, making sure to get around the beds of her short, unpolished nails, and in the webs between her fingers. Standing, I tower over her. She can’t be much more than five feet. Smaller even than Emily. But where Emily’s so thin that I worry about her sometimes, Cynnie has rounder limbs. I can’t tell much about her body because she’s wearing several layers: the floral dress over white lace leggings, scrunchy socks in two different colors, soft pink sneakers, and a pale purple, sleeveless duster over it all. Everything about her is small and soft and cute and I want to devour her.
“All clean,” I say, once her hands are dough-free. “Do you have any flour anywhere else?”
“Doan know.” She peers down at herself.
I twirl my finger in the air and she obediently turns in a circle. Her dress and duster can’t conceal a round ass. I pretend to dust a little flour off her just to stare at that ass for another moment. Fuck, I’m such a pervert.
“I think we got it all,” I tell her when the feeling of perving on her becomes overwhelming.
“Thank you, Max.”
Three thank yous and my name. I need a cold shower.
Mary Lisa bounces up next to me and that kills my stiffy faster than a blast of cold water. “Max, would you play a game with me while the dough’s rising?”
At least she didn’t touch me this time. “Sure, Mary Lisa.”
My relief’s short-lived when she grabs my hand and drags me over to where the games are set out. Like I don’t know where I left them. She picks Chutes and Ladders, which I only vaguely remember how to play but how hard can it be? I sit down across the table from her, grateful to be out of arm’s reach. Jack and Sammi join us a minute later. Sammi sits down next to me, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s sitting on a full diaper.
The littles turn out to be Chutes and Ladders sharks, scooting to the top of the board in just over a dozen moves, while Jack and I are still sliding around at the bottom of the board. It’s good fun, though, and I’m feeling less hostile toward Mary Lisa both for touching me and dragging me away from Cynnie. I can hear her occasionally while we play—mostly giggling, which makes me smile—but I don’t watch her. That’s too creepy, even for me.
Ginger starts calling people whose dough has proved over to flatten out their balls into pies. Mary Lisa disdains getting her hands dirty again, but Cynnie sits down across the table with a shy smile and starts patting out her dough. Jack wanders over and shows me how to spin it out into a real pizza base, working it over my knuckles. That gets him a huge amount of ribbing from the other daddies about his “Italian roots showing,” but no one turns down his help when it comes to spinning out their dough. Cynnie manages hers and I’m surprised at my level of disappointment that she doesn’t need my help.
Ginger brings out wide, wooden paddles to put our pizza bases on and then we move to the next station to spread sauce over the dough. Mary Lisa doesn’t want to risk getting sauce on her dress, and choses a white sauce, which doesn’t belong on pizza. Neither do pineapples, which fill one of the topping bowls. Happily, Mary Lisa doesn’t pick pineapple to go on the pizza and isn’t as worried about ruining her clothes when she’s placingtoppings on the base, although she does use little tongs, and still comes to me to clean her hands off.
She’s assembled Frankenstein’s pizza, with wounds of pepperoni and red pepper, stitched together with cheese over the flesh-white base. I have zero interest in eating that thing and am happy to see Cynnie has made something more appetizing. I’ll steal some of hers. Emily and Logan are also in line behind me and I know Emily wanted help eating the “healthy” pizza she’s making so Logan doesn’t eat the whole thing and raise his cholesterol even higher. He’s getting to be such an old man.
