Page 46 of The Christmas Arrangement

I tie my hair back and wash my hands while Dash rolls up his sleeves. I’m acutely aware of sharing the small kitchen space with him.

I pull out a large glass bowl. “Bread first. It needs time to rise.”

“I’ve never made bread. I’ve never met anybody who makes bread.”

“It’s easier than you think. And therapeutic.” I measure flour into the bowl, then hand him the measuring cup. “Your turn. Two more cups, then a quarter cup more.”

He’s quiet, concentrating as he levels each cup with the back of a knife. I add the yeast and salt and whisk the ingredients together then pour in the warm water.

I give him a spatula.

“What do I do with this?”

“Mix it around until it forms a sticky ball.”

He shoots me a skeptical look but does it. When the dough takes shape, he gives an excited shout and I try to hide my amusement.

“Now what?”

“Now we cover the bowl and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For it to rise. It’ll take at least two hours, maybe more. We want it to double in size. We can make the soup in the mean time.”

The playlist ends. “More music?” He reaches for his phone.

“Sure or a podcast.” I glance at him. “Or we could talk.”

“What would we talk about?”

“I don’t know. Normal people things. Favorite foods. Memorable cooking disasters. Whatever.”

He laughs. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.”

I stretch one of the reusable covers that Merry swears by over the bowl and set the dough aside. He uncorks a bottle of red wine and pours us each a glass, then studies the vegetables on the counter. “Where do we start?”

“Chopping. I’ll show you.”

I show him how to hold a knife and move his hand while we chop the first carrot. Then I push the rest of the carrots toward him. “You do the rest.”

Again, he follows my instructions carefully.

I peel the onions and add them to his pile. “Cut these in quarters and then dice them.”

“Yes, chef.”

He attacks them with gusto, but tears start streaming down his face, he gives me a look as though I’ve betrayed him.

“You didn’t warn me about this.”

“Try breathing through your mouth.”

He does. “That doesn’t help.”

“No, but it’s what everyone says to do.”

He laughs through the tears, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “You’re enjoying this.”