She holds my gaze for a beat before Anna interrupts us with her first instructions, and soon, I am knuckle-deep in flour and eggs.
“You can mix this with a fork if you like,” Anna tells us. “Some people find that easier. But my mother and my grandmother used their fingers and hands.”
“Mine, too,” Marina chimes in.
“I think it’s better. Gives the dough a bit more love. Andwho can’t use a bit more love, eh?” Murmurs of agreement and soft chuckles go around the room. I do a scan to find the twins behind me both with their hands in dough. The young girl across the aisle is concentrating hard, her tongue poked out at the corner of her mouth, and I’m impressed with the effort they’re putting in. Both sets of parents are helping, and it’s sweet to watch.
Also, Marina’s not wrong about the newlyweds. They’re also supplying me with an example of how this can be a romantic thing. Their heads are close together, their voices soft, both mixing the dough. I can’t make out specifics of what they’re saying, but I know they’re talking. Every so often, the woman giggles, and the man looks very satisfied at having cracked her up.
“Good research, yes?” Marina says quietly.
“I forgot how wonderful it can be to have somebody make you laugh,” I say kind of absently as I watch the couple.
“It’s the best.” There’s a beat of silence before she adds, “This pasta isn’t going to make itself, you know. Get mixing, woman.”
I laugh and turn to look at her. She’s smiling at me and gives me a wink and points at my unfinished pile of flour and eggs. “Yes, ma’am.”
We each have a pile that we’re mixing, and it’s surprising how quickly it becomes a dough. Marina is much faster and better at it than I am, of course, but she’s also patient. When I get frustrated, she moves to my dough and demonstrates how to knead.
She has great hands.
It’s a fleeting thought that zips through my mind and then is gone. But I noticed it.
“Like this,” she says as she rolls the dough back, then pushes it forward with the heel of her hand. “You try.”
I do my best to imitate her movements. Anna strolls downthe aisle. “Nice, Lily. Perfect.”
I glance at Marina and smile like a kid who just got the math lesson correct.
“If your dough is too dry, you can add a teaspoon of olive oil to soften it up,” Anna says loudly to the class. “If it seems too wet, add more flour.”
Marina is standing close to me, and a glance across the aisle shows me that the newlyweds are nearly touching. Okay, yeah, I can see how this class could be kinda romantic.
“What are you smiling at?” Marina asks.
I shrug and shake my head. “Nothing. Just happy.” It’s true, I realize. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in quite a while.
“Good. Me too.”
And then Anna is telling us we need to let our dough rest for an hour, and if we follow her through the mysterious door I didn’t see, she has a light snack of charcuterie and wine for us.
“I love charcuterie and wine,” I whisper to Marina.
She smiles that smile at me, and I can’t help the thought that runs through my head: oh, yeah, this is definitely romantic. I picture my pastry chefs and wonder if putting them in some kind of class together would start some sparks flying.
“Ready?” Marina’s voice pulls me back to the present. The rest of the room has filed through the doorway behind Anna’s station, and Marina has her arm out, waiting for me to go first.
With a nod, I follow the others through the door.
The charcuterie and wine was nice, but nothing rivals the actual dinner we have. While we were rolling and cutting our pasta dough, preparing it for cooking, the assistants were setting the table in the other room for the eleven of us, and it’s gorgeous.Formal place settings, candles, a huge bowl of salad and a pile of fresh bread, complete with olive oil for dipping.
The assistants take our fresh pasta away while we all grab seats. It’s snug, and Marina and I sit quite close, our knees bumping here and there. The room buzzes with conversation, everybody talking and laughing. The atmosphere is happy, excited.
“I’m having such a good time,” I say quietly to Marina, and it’s true. “This is the best time I’ve had so far on my trip.”
“Really?” Marina smiles, and her cheeks tint just the slightest pink. “I’m so glad to hear that. Are you getting what you need?”
I hold her gaze for an extra beat. I know what she’s asking. Am I getting inspiration for my writing? And I am. But I’m getting something more as well, something I’m not ready to examine quite yet. I nod. “I am. Thank you.Grazie.” I try my hand at what tiny bit of Italian I’ve picked up.
