Chapter 50: Happy

"So?"

It's the weekend now, and I'm at his house. He's teaching me how to make 'easy' pizza from scratch (he's doing all the work, while I try not to drool over: a) the food, and b) how attractive it is when he's cooking).

"So, what?" I ask after a moment. He started the conversation while he was kneading the dough, and it was hard to focus on anything other than him being attractive (he's not, like, enormously muscular, but when he was kneading, his biceps were flexing like crazy and I couldn't think for a little bit).

He's smirking a little as he puts it into a bowl to rise and starts chopping pizza toppings. He discovered the effect that him cooking has on me pretty quickly. "Do your parents hate me?"

"I mean, you're definitely not my dad's favourite..." I trail off as he cuts pepperoni slices at the speed of light. "But, um, yeah, after you left my dad yelled a bit, and then my mom was crying, and she sent me upstairs and I guess she talked to him because he came up and hugged me a little later, and they both told me to have fun when I told them I was going to my boyfriend's house this morning."

He's still smirking. "So, overall damage was not devastating."

"Not devastating," I repeat as he reaches across the stove to turn on a burner and puts a pan down, tossing in some bacon.

"Are you actually going to remember the steps for the pizza, later?" he asks, smirking at me a little more.

"Couldn't forget," I mumble as he flips the bacon in the pan by flicking the pan up instead of using a spatula. Oh, oh my...

"Are you listening, though?"

I swallow and look up to meet his gaze. "Um... well, yes, but that part I've definitely forgotten."

"I see." He gets a small dish out of the fridge and goes back to the pan, painting each strip with whatever's in it.

"What's that?"

"Maple glaze."

He drops the strips back into the pan, reigniting the sizzling sound. My mouth would be watering from that alone, if there weren't several other mouth-watering things in the kitchen right now.

"If you drool on the counter, you have to clean it up," he says, giving me a pointed smirk, and I mentally check if my mouth's closed (it is. He's just teasing me).

"Hilarious. Is the bacon for the pizza?"

"If you want it, then sure."

"Why'd you make it, though?"

"Because you think it's attractive when I cook, and I figured that watching me cut vegetables would be less interesting than watching me cook maple-glazed bacon."

I blush and roll my eyes. "Can I try some?"

"Far be it from me to deprive my salivating boyfriend of-"

I sigh loudly, and he flashes me a toothy smirk before reaching over and feeding me a bite of bacon. Wow.

"Good?"

"Mhmm." I swallow. "Delicious. I want that on my pizza."

"Alright. Speaking of which..." he glances inside the bowl where the yeast is rising.

I crane my neck to see. "Is it done?"

"Yeah, looks like it"

"That was fast."

He grins. "It's warm in here. And I told you, it's an easy recipe."

"You're a better cook than me. I'll leave that part to you."

"Sure. Now come over here, I'm not doing this part for you."

I circle around the counter, standing next to him and leaning against his shoulder a little. He flexes his bicep, and I tilt my head up to peck his cheek before listening to his instructions.

"Alright, here's some dough. Flatten it out, then put whatever you want on it. Tomato sauce, olive oil, Parmesan cheese, mozzarella petals, basil leaves, toppings."

"Can you do it first?"

He smirks. "Alright, but make sure you're actually paying attention and focusing on what I'm doing, because I won't be doing it twice."

Oh, believe me, I couldn't get distracted if I actively tried. "I will."

He's still smirking as he takes the dough, presses it down a little, then sort of hangs it on his knuckles and spins it vertically. It gets bigger, until he drops it back into the counter (which he floured earlier) and presses around the edges to make a crust. Then, he spreads some tomato sauce on, spreading in circular strokes, then olive oil- he does something with his thumb to keep it from splashing out all at once- then he grates some Parmesan cheese on, followed by mozzarella petals, and a handful of basil leaves. I'm a little out of breath by the end of it, despite how quick he was. He makes it look so easy.

"Your turn."

I gently flatten the dough, then try and do the knuckle-thing he did- I fail, predictably. Before I can even ask, he's behind me, his hands covering my own, with his fingers slotted through mine, curling into my palm. I try not to focus on enjoying his close proximity and instead concentrate on the motion of his hands. After a second or so, he rests his hands on my forearms to let me try. I copy what he did, and he rewards me with a brief kiss on the cheek. I blush.

I spread on some tomato sauce, then the olive oil (he shows me how to position my thumb properly), then Parmesan and mozzarella cheese, and basil leaves. I take a few shavings of pepperoni, then some of the bacon. He does the same, then gives me a smirk as he brings both our plates over to the stove and gets out another pan.

"Should I be doing anything?" I ask tentatively as he puts some oil in each pan, then drops in the pizzas.

"Nah, you can just stare at me."

"They're stovetop pizzas?"

"Yup."

I watch as he checks underneath each of them with a spatula, then gestures to me. I sidle up to him, and he puts one arm around my waist as he lifts one of the pizzas up again with the spatula in his other hand.

"See how pale the dough is? You're looking to get it just a shade darker than that. And there should be some darker spots. It'll change pretty quickly, it only needs a minute or two."

"Okay."

"Are you actually listening?"

I grin a little. "Yes."

"Whatever you say." He leans in for a kiss, which I gladly oblige. After a few (okay, more than a few) pecks, he pulls back and checks the pizzas again. "Alright, they're ready. Stand back."

I do as he says, confused. "They're ready for what?"

He smirks as he puts both pans into the oven, then closes it and goes to the sink to rinse the spatula. "To go in the oven."

"I thought you said they were stovetop pizzas? Don't you like recipes that you can do in a pan?"

He grins and places the spatula back down on the counter, then pulls me into his arms, pressing his lips to mine. I put my arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss. A moment later, he pulls back and gives me a smirk. "I'm learning to like cooking things in the oven."

I snort. "Are you sure we should be making out in the kitchen? It is the kitchen, where you make food."

He pecks the tip of my nose, making me blush. "It's just kissing. I'm sure we can control ourselves enough to stick to just kissing while we're in the kitchen."

I press my lips together, then give in. "Fine."

He grins as he kisses me again, still holding me loosely by the waist. He lets out a soft hum of contentment as I kiss him back, tugging me a little closer. I sigh a little as he slips his tongue inside my mouth, before-

"Really? In the kitchen?"

We both turn to see Darla in the doorway. She's found us kissing quite a bit in the last few days- I can't tell if I block out the rest of the world really effectively, or if she's always walked this quietly, but neither he or I seem to hear her before she's seen us.

"I said that too! And he said it was fine!" I protest, and he rolls his eyes.

"It's only kissing, for crying out loud. You're both overreacting."

"But you couldn't even wait until you finished whatever you're making? Are you even cooking something, or did you just think this would be a nice place to kiss?"

"Yes, Mum, we're making pizza. And don't blame me, I'm just so irresistible that Todd couldn't help himself- he practically attacked me."

"I did not!"

"I give up," Darla says, throwing her hands up and leaving. I turn back to him.

"Your mom must hate me at this point," I grumble.

"Stop worrying," he says as he goes over to the oven and takes the pizzas out. "Lunch is ready."

We go down to the basement to play video games while we eat. It's delicious, unsurprisingly. I tell him so, and he says that flattering his cooking won't make him let me win the next race. I win anyways, and he chases me around the basement until I get back to his beanbag and start another race from his controller.

It's there, in that moment- with him, in his basement, laughing, and playing Mario Kart and trading kisses between bites of his homemade pizza- that I finally feel truly happy.

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