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After that she was all about the whisk, and incorporating the liquid ingredients.
“Perfect,” Charlie said.
She nodded because perfect was how she rolled.
“Okay,” Charlie said. “Now it’s time to add the dry ingredients. A fancy cook would tell you to mix the dry ingredients all together first, before you put them in the liquid, but I’m all about expediency. Measure two cups of flour and just drop them into the liquid. Don’t stir.”
She shoved the cup into the container, and Charlie realized he’d missed a step.
“Oh, wait...you can’t pack flour when you measure it or whatever you’re making will be too heavy or too tough. I just kind of stir the flour in the container with a spoon or a knife...like this...and then scoop the flour like this and level it off with the knife. I’ll do this one, and you do the second cup.”
Wyrick didn’t miss a detail, and repeated his actions perfectly when she measured the second cup of flour.
“Now add two tablespoons of sugar. Use that one...see, it says tablespoon. Just level them off...yes, like that, and dump it in on top of the flour. Now add two teaspoons of baking powder and a teaspoon of salt.”
Wyrick was so focused on what she was doing that she didn’t realize she was all but leaning against Charlie in an effort to get close, and their hands and arms had bumped a half dozen times in crossing while he was showing her how to measure. She didn’t know it, but Charlie did, and he liked it. This comfortable, doing-something-together shit rocked.
“Okay,” Charlie said. “Now whisk it again until all of the dry ingredients are mixed in.”
She grabbed hold of the bowl with one hand and the whisk with her other, and began beating the ingredients until it had become a smooth, silky batter.
“That’s looks perfect,” Charlie said. “You just made pancake batter.”
Wyrick stopped, looked down at the bowl and then up at him and beamed.
“Now, show me how to cook them without burning. And I’ll warn you, I can’t even flip a fried egg without making a mess, which is why I always eat them scrambled.”
Charlie wanted to hug her. Instead, he put a hand on her shoulder.
“Chill. I have faith in you.”
He didn’t see the flash of tears in her eyes, because he had turned to get a big griddle out of a lower cabinet, but it was all Wyrick could do to get herself together. Never in her life had anyone ever said that to her.
Charlie was talking about preheating the griddle, and about nonstick surfaces and others that had to be oiled, then he showed her spatulas versus what he called pancake turners.
She was nodding and watching, but she was also painfully aware of the deep rumble of his voice in her ear, and the musky scent of his aftershave.
“Okay,” he said. “This is how you know when the griddle is hot enough.” He dunked a spoon in some water, then let a couple of drops fall onto the griddle. “See how that sizzled and almost danced across the griddle? That’s how you know.” He picked up the one-third measuring cup, dipped up some batter and poured it onto the griddle. “Like that,” he said. “Now, you do the rest and see how that one is spreading...so...leave room between each pancake for it to spread and cook. Makes turning them easier.”
She nodded, repeated his actions and soon had six perfect little round pancakes cooking on the griddle.
He picked up the pancake turner, then pointed again. “Watch for the edges to start getting a little brown...and when the bubbles start coming up in the middle of the pancake, that means it’s ready to turn.”
Wyrick’s focus was laser-sharp as she watched, and when the first ones began to appear, she pointed.
“There’s one! And another, and another. There are three bubbles. Is it time to turn?”
“I’d say yes,” Charlie said. “Let’s see.” He slid the turner beneath the pancake, then gave it a quick flip. It landed raw side down in a perfect little plop, revealing a golden-brown surface on the side they’d just cooked.
“Perfect! It looks perfect!” Wyrick said.
“Now you do the rest,” Charlie said. “Just wait for the bubbles.”
Within seconds the next one was ready to turn. She struggled a little and then got it turned, and after that she was a pancake-making machine, flipping each one as if she’d done it all her life.
“Now check the first one we turned to see if it’s done,” Charlie said and showed her how. “Looks done to me,” he said and took it off the griddle.
Again, she followed his instructions with surgical precision and had the six-stack done, and all she could do was stare at it.