Page 38 of Border Control
I sit next to her. “How are you feeling?”
“Been better.” She sneezes. “Fuck. You’re better off steering clear of me, I think.”
I lean away from her. “Did you catch a cold out there?”
“Seems like it.” She raises a finger and I wait while Arabella pinches her face together, hovering on the edge of a sneeze.
Finally her shoulders slump. “Okay, okay, I think we’re safe, but my voice is crap.”
“It needs rest.” Gara slides next to her, handing her a pack of tissues.
“Oh thank heavens.” Arabella grabs a handful and noisily blows her nose. “Thanks, you saved my life.”
He blinks at her, and I could imagine Dom taking that way too literally.
Ellen clatters in with several jars balanced on a stack of plates. “I managed to get the dough out of the freezer earlier but I haven’t been able to stop for a second to roll it out, nor time to shop for toppings. Nicole is bringing those down and she’ll be here in forty five minutes or so, she’s finishing up an operation, but I’ve got so much to do before then!” She dumps her load on a spare table, the glassware rattling.
I jump up. “Here, I’ll help you with that,” I say, at the same time Dom says, “Female, let me assist.”
I eye him and he’s as surprised as I am, big purple eyes wide. So, pure coincidence we both volunteered simultaneously.
Much too harried to say anything about it, Ellen nods. “Go for it. Laura, you know what to do?”
I eye the containers of perfect dough balls. “Simply roll out into shape, yes?”
“Yeah, mostly.” She flicks the top of a half-empty packet of flour. “Dust the surface using this to stop it sticking to the board.”
I won’t comment on how sanitary this field kitchen is, but at least the pizza stone looks clean, well loved and sliced all over from past pizza parties. Ellen’s dad used to make an amazing pizza for our sleepovers when we were little.
Gently touching Ellen’s shoulder, I say, “It won’t be as good as his, but I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks.” Shooting me a grateful smile, Ellen ducks out to rush off somewhere else, and I turn my attention to the innocent looking mounds of dough in the containers.
Dom’s shadow looms over me, getting close enough to touch again. “Law… Female, what do we do?”
“We get them out, one at a time.” I unsnap the tupperware lid, a rush of yeasty goodness washing over me. Trying to hookmy fingers underneath it, I succeed in sinking them into the squidgy round ball.
Dom simply turns his container around and the dough plops obediently into his huge palm. “And then?”
“Spread a bit of flour down, then press and roll the mixture into a circular shape. Some people toss it in the air, but I have no idea how it’s done. I have Deliverfood on my phone for a reason.”
“Between us, we’re sure to work it out,” Dom says, his voice a low rumble.
He presses his large palm over his dough and rolls it out with languid, massaging strokes. The pre-pizza is literally putty in his hands.
“Well, you’re doing great. All I’ve achieved is ruining my manicure.”
“Then allow me to labor for you.”
It’s not really in my nature to step back and let a man take over, but he’s not quite a man. Male, yes, with plenty of masculine energy in his tight jaw and imposing muscled physique. Mm.
Dom pushes more dough balls out, sprinkling a pinch of flour over the top. “If I may ask…?”
“You may.”
“What do you do to occupy your time, Law… female?”
I whisper, “You can call me Laura. We’ll pretend we’ve introduced ourselves properly to one another.” As opposed to introducing myself by stripping him in search of buried treasure to see what I'm working with.
