A Nantucket Wedding(15)

“I think basic white bread,” Ethan said.

“Okay, good.”

“Stand next to me. I’ll give you directions. You do the work.”

“Oh, thanks so much,” Jane joked. As she moved, she became vividly aware of her body. She and Ethan both wore shorts, flip-flops, and T-shirts. Jane wasn’t wearing a bra. She wasn’t as voluptuous as Felicity and often went braless at home. When she did, Scott never noticed, so when Jane dressed this morning, she had, without thinking, gone without a bra.

Well, maybe she had thought about it for a fraction of a moment.

“Hey, it’s the best way to learn. Okay, first, empty the yeast in the bowl and add two and a fourth cups of warm water.”

Jane went to the sink and turned on the taps, fiddling with them both to get the right temperature. “How warm is warm?”

She had the back of her hand under the flow of water. Ethan came over and put his hand under the water. He didn’t touch her hand, but his chest brushed against her shoulder and arm. It was almost as if he were holding her. Jane stood paralyzed, bombarded by sensations. He smelled of soap and shampoo—his hair was still damp—and gave off a warmth that made her body tingle. If she turned slightly, she could kiss him.

“This is good,” Ethan said.

Jane almost said, “I know,” but she caught hold of her senses and realized he wasn’t talking about standing next to her. He was talking about the water temperature.

She filled the cup twice and poured two and a fourth cups of water over the yeast, which immediately began to bubble.

    “Oh, look!” she said. “It’s like an experiment in science class.”

“I gather you enjoyed science class.”

“Loved it.” She glanced at him and was almost knocked off her feet by the wattage of his smile. “What next?”

“We add the sugar, salt, and oil.” Ethan brought the staples from the cupboard and stood quietly while she measured them out. “Now add three cups of flour. Beat it all until it’s smooth. No, don’t just stir. Beat. Good. Now, add three more cups of flour, a half cup or so at a time, and keep beating.”

Jane picked up the bowl and held it against her while she beat the dough. “Wonderful smell,” she said.

“That’s the yeast.”

She added more flour. “Hey, this is getting difficult. Are you sure we need this much flour?”

“Absolutely sure.” Ethan watched her and finally said, “Okay. Now we’ll turn it on to the bread board and knead it. First, you have to sprinkle flour on the board.”

Jane picked up the bag of flour and carefully shook out a dusting of flour.

“You’ll need more than that. Like this.” Ethan shook out a blizzard of flour.

“But that’s so…messy,” Jane said. She’d never known flour was so delicate and flyaway, landing on their clothes, the table, the floor.

“Being clean’s no fun,” Ethan said, looking right into her eyes as he spoke.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Besides,” Ethan continued, “some of this flour will become part of the bread. Now, turn the dough out on this bread board. Knead it for about ten minutes.” He checked his watch. “I’ll time you.”

Jane dumped the dough out. Its yielding bulk seemed almost living. Ethan stood close to her, watching, and she could hardly think. She squeezed part of the dough and then another section, until Ethan corrected her.

    “No, knead. Haven’t you ever kneaded before?”

What she heard was Haven’t you ever needed before? She was speechless.

“Here. Let me show you.” Ethan stood behind her, placed his hands on top of her hands, and began to knead. “Like this.”

His body touched hers now, as he pushed and pulled the dough so that it became more elastic. Jane could feel his breath against her hair, his chest against her shoulders.

“Okay,” Ethan said. “Now you do it.”

He moved away from her. She knew she should be glad and maybe in some faraway corner of her rational mind she was, but her body yearned for him to return. Forcing herself to pay attention to the bread, she kneaded and folded and kneaded and folded again.

“It’s getting silky,” she said.

“Good. I’ve greased this bowl. Put the dough in and turn it so that it’s got grease on all sides. Then we’ll cover it with a dish towel and let it rise.”

She had to move next to him as she lifted the yielding dough into her hands and placed it inside the bowl. It was so quiet in the room she could hear her breathing, and his, and she realized his breath was coming fast, and hearing it was such an intimate thing that her entire body blazed.

“There,” she said. Her voice was shaking. Her face was glowing. She found the courage to look at him and ask, “So, now what?”

His gaze was intense. “Now we wait.”

“How long will that take?”

“About an hour or two. I’ll turn it out and knead it one more time. When you all return from lunch, we can shape it into loaves and put it in the oven.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. I’ll…” Her voice was hoarse. Her mind, her brilliant legal mind, was a puddle of melted chocolate.

“How should we pass the time?” Ethan put his hand on her arm, pulling her closer to him.