Page 20 of We Can Do
Lawrence’s laughter continues. “What are you really holding against her, Noah? Does it have anything to do with how attractive she is?”
“How would that make me mad?” The words come out louder than intended.
“Because you’re set on hating food reviewers. And becoming friendly with Alexis would threaten all your beliefs about them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grumble. “But, fine. Yes. She’s attractive. If I’m going to get this book done,though, I need to treat her like she has the seductiveness of day-old rye.”
“Hey, don’t knock day-old rye. It makes the best toast.”
“Very funny,” I toss over my shoulder as I head back to the dining room.
I need Lawrence to be right like I need a hole in my head, but with every step I take towards Alexis it becomes harder to not appreciate her beauty. If we’re going to work on this book together, I need to become a pro at compartmentalizing ASAP.
“Hey.” Alexis clears her throat as I slide back into my seat. “I was thinking, it’s pretty clear that we’ve both been acting on assumptions about each other, and I’m sorry.”
The relief her words bring catches me off guard. “I am too. I had a chip on my shoulder when it came to food reviewers long before you ever reviewed Street Cucina. Even if you had written a good review, I wouldn’t have been crazy about you.”
“Thank you.” Her fingers fidget with her gold bracelet. “I don’t want to operate from that place anymore, so I have an idea. What if we work together to test the first few recipes in your book?”
My head tilts in confusion. “They don’t need to be tested. They’re fool proof. I’ve been making them for years.”
“I’m not thinking for you, I’m thinking for me. You teaching me these recipes will allow me to see your process, and that’ll help the book. To champion you like an editor should, I need to understand your approach and the story you’re telling with your food.”
“You’d give up your time to do that?”
She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be giving up any time. Not when it’s spent doing something worthwhile.”
The suggestion touches something deep in my chest. This is evidence of real commitment to her job.
“Okay. Deal.” I extend my hand across the table. The moment her palm slides against mine, electricity races up my arm from where our skin connects.
I pull my hand back quickly, hoping she doesn’t notice my reaction.
“Great.” Her smile could light up the whole bakery. “We have a deal.”
“Can you come back here on Monday? The morning rush usually ends around nine thirty.”
“Perfect.” She begins gathering her things, but her offer sparks an idea.
“Hold on one second.” I raise a finger and push back from the table.
In the kitchen, I grab a clean mason jar and carefully spoon in a generous portion of my sourdough starter. The pale, bubbling mixture looks healthy and active. I seal the lid tight and carry it back to Alexis.
Her eyes go wide. “Starter?”
“Yep. Feed it with an equal ratio of flour to water.” I place the jar in her hands. “And don’t forget to name it.”
Laughter bubbles out of her. “Name it?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I swear that naming starters makes better bread.”
“So this is my first lesson?” She holds the jar up to the light, examining the starter.
“It’s your second one. The first lesson is what I learned when I first began making sourdough. Take care of yourself. It’s more important than anything else.”
Her gaze shifts from the jar to my face. “How does a starter teach you that?”
“You have to pause twice a day to feed it, and that can be surprisingly soothing.” My hands find my jean pockets. “At least it was for me when I got started doing this.”
