Chapter 20 #2
Michael didn’t say anything but worked the dough, so his fingers were under it, and tossed it in the air about a few inches above his fingers. It spun several times before falling back down, and he caught it.
She couldn’t even accuse him of being a showoff since she’d asked him to do it. “Is that another skill you learned in the Army?”
“Navy,” he corrected. “And no.”
“A lover?” she guessed.
Michael gave her a side glance that he didn’t appreciate her always blaming lovers in his life for everything.
She honestly shouldn’t. The man had a past. Even he’d admitted it.
She shouldn’t hold that against him. “No, but I did travel through Italy, and a pizza maker showed me. I’m nowhere near his skills. ”
“How did you manage to get them to teach you? Isn’t that like trade secret?” Andrea didn’t want to assume it was a woman who’d taught him.
“It’s not like I was asking for the recipe. I ate there a few times and asked questions. Finally, he took me in the back and showed me.”
“And you started making your own pizzas after that?”
Michael looked thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I did. I bought one from the store when I came home and almost gagged. I’ve made my own ever since. Okay, dough is ready. Now for the toppings. I have more stuff in the fridge and pantry, but this is just the basics. I wasn’t sure what you like.”
“I’m easy.” She shrugged. “With pizza toppings,” she quickly added, realizing the innuendo she’d left hanging.
“Noted.” Michael chuckled. “So what’s your pleasure?”
Andrea looked over the assortment. “No pineapple?”
Michael’s face pulled into a grimace. “A Hawaiian pizza? No. Fruit is not a pizza topping. At least in my opinion. And don’t ever mention pineapple and pizza in the same sentence to an Italian. It’s barbaric.” Michael gave a shudder.
“Got it. I was only teasing by the way.” She looked back over the toppings. The man did have a large assortment. “I’ll do pepperoni, sausage, and green peppers.” It was what she normally ordered for herself.
“Good choice.”
“Would the Italians approve of that?”
“They usually just have sauce, cheese, and vegetables.”
“How long were you in Italy, or can you not talk about it?” Andrea didn’t know much about the military, but she assumed in reconnaissance, you couldn’t talk much about what you did.
“I can talk about it, just not specifically what I was doing there. I was there a few weeks.”
She wondered what other places he had been to. What other cooking secrets he had learned. The man had seen so much of the world, and she had seen so little of it. A fact that hadn’t bothered her much until recently. Michael was opening her eyes to a whole world right in her own backyard.
He and Maya were right. She was just existing instead of living. Andrea could see that now. But could she change? Could she get out of her shell and stop living in fear and just live?
“What are you putting on your pizza?” she asked as she assembled her pizza. Carefully applying the sauce to cover all edges and corners so there was no part that wasn’t covered.
“Sauce, anchovies, olives, and capers.”
“Anchovies as in sardines? Eww.” That sounded like a horrible pizza. And the Italians frowned on fruit? Fish didn’t belong on pizza.
“Have you ever tried them?” he queried, turning to face her with a fist planted on his hip.
“No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
“I have a guess, and I can’t say I’m missing out on anything. I can’t imagine the Italians approve of that.”
“They started it. It’s popular in some provinces.”
“How unfortunate for them,” she mumbled to herself. If that was her only choice for pizza, she would forgo it.
“Don’t knock something until you’ve tried it.”
“Fish pizza is not something I’ll ever try.” Ever. That just sounded horrible.
“Suite yourself.” He gave her a side glance then a double take. “Oh, don’t put your sauce all the way to the edge.”
“Why not?”
“Because as the dough rises, it’s going to burn those edges and spill over into the oven. Here.” Michael stepped closer, their hips brushing as he took the spoon she’d used to apply the sauce and pushed it an inch from the edge.
“Do I need to do something specific for the toppings?”
“No, decorate to your heart’s content.”
Heart’s content, huh? Andrea scattered the cheese and pepperoni around with no design in mind but made sure to keep it from the edges as Michael instructed.
“There you go,” Michael encouraged as he assembled his own pizza. She couldn’t even look down at it to see the tiny fish strewn around it. Gross.
Andrea grabbed the bowl of sausage crumbles and started scattering them around.
“But it’s missing something.”
“What?” She looked down, studying it. The peppers hadn’t been added yet, but that was all that was missing.
“This.” He held one of those tiny fish over her pizza. Dangling it over the center of it.
“No,” she squealed and pushed it away before it could contaminate it. “Keep your fish away from my pizza.”
“Just one. You won’t even know it’s there.” He tried putting it on her pizza again, but she blocked his hand with her wrist.
“Yes, I will. Keep it on yours.”
“Just try it.”
“Not on your life. Here, you need some real meat on yours.” She grabbed one of the sausage pieces and tossed it on his pizza, landing it right in the middle of it.
“Oh, is that how it’s going to be?” There was a challenge in his eye.
“Yes,” she hissed and tossed another sausage but at him this time instead of the pizza. She aimed for his chest.
Michael caught it easily. “Is that the best you can do?”
He wanted her to toss it where he could catch it? “Ready?” she asked, rolling the sausage crumble in the middle of her palm ready to launch it.
“Bring it,” Michael said confidently.
She tossed it up in the air, making sure it was above his head. Michael’s mouth opened, and he shifted his head to the side as the meat fell in. He raised his hands over his head in triumph. “And the crowd goes wild. Ahh,” he cheered for himself. “Now your turn.”
“Oh no, my coordination is not the greatest.”
“Come on, just try it.”
Andrea set down the next sausage crumble and faced Michael.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this.
Michael tossed a sausage crumble right over her head.
She leaned back to catch it but felt she was falling backward.
Her arms windmilled out to catch herself, but steel bands locked around her biceps and held her up.
“Don’t lean so far back. Tilt your head back, but don’t lean your whole body back.” Michael stepped away and grabbed another sausage.
“I think one try was enough.” She’d warned him she wasn’t very good at this.
“One more try.”
“One more.” Andrea widened her stance, keeping a hand on the counter for balance and waited. The meat rose above her head. She opened her mouth and felt it land on her tongue.
“Score!” Michael shouted with his arms up like a ref when a kicker scored the goal. Andrea stood in shock for a moment that she’d caught it. That was a first.
She had never caught anything before. Not with her hands let alone her mouth. She had always been horribly clumsy at school in sports. Her gym teacher had given up on it and let her sit on the sidelines when it came to hand-eye coordination sports.
“I can’t believe I did that,” she remarked in awe of herself. Andrea threw her hands up and did her own little touchdown dance. Take that, gym teacher and everyone else who’d made fun of her.