“Yeah, Uncle Mac, what do you say? Want to roll some dough?”
The challenge in Gayle’s voice jerked his attention to her. Her gaze was steady. Knowing. Mocking. He clenched his jaw. Okay. He deserved that. He’d made himself look like an idiot, which gave her the advantage. For now.
“Sure,” he grudgingly agreed.
Her lips twisted into a cocky smile. “Good.”
With the agreement, an awkward silence fell in the kitchen—or maybe it was only awkward to him. He spent his social time in a gym with fighters. Men. The rest he spent in solitude. He didn’t remember how to chat up women or interact with little girls.
Running his hands through his hair, he flicked his gaze toward the hall—toward escape—as pressure started to build in his chest. A ridiculous reaction. But Gayle scared the ever-loving hell out of him, and Skylar—well, that sweet little girl was just a little too hard to look at.
“We’re not going to bite, handsome.”
Damn it. His gaze shot to Gayle. The arched brow and amused lips sent anger blasting through him. Okay, Hannon. Time to bring The Snake into action. Treat this like you would when meeting an opponent in the cage.
Wiping his face of emotion, he squared his shoulders and started toward the counter.
That brow notched up another fraction. “Impressive. I take it the cage fighter is among us now, and not Mac.”
He froze. Jesus Christ. The woman called him on every damn thing he did and left him fumbling for footing. He hated every second of it.
She shrugged and started pulling things out of the basket. “Whatever you’ve got to do, handsome.” She shoved a bag of flour at him. “Take this and measure out four cups. You can handle that, right?”
It was his turn to lift a brow. So, she had no idea about his past career. Good. “I think I can handle it.” He glanced down at the bag of all-purpose flour. “Bread flour would’ve been a better choice.”
As she stared at the package in his hand, her nose scrunched in confusion. “That would make bread, right?”
At the outright bewilderment she didn’t even try to hide, a laugh tickled his chest. Covering it up with a cough, he shook his head. “Never mind.”
He grabbed a measuring cup and a bowl from under the counter and scanned the ingredients Gayle had pulled from the basket. He tried not to scowl at the assortment of canned items. He made a killer homemade marinara sauce, but it would go unappreciated by an eight-year-old. His eyes landed on the table salt. Nope. He twisted, grabbed the kosher sea salt from the counter behind him, and switched it out with the other, which Gayle didn’t miss.
She slowly turned her head to stare at him. “You got a problem with regular salt?”
Deciding to keep his mouth shut, he just shrugged his shoulders.
“Whatever floats your boat, handsome,” she muttered, lightly shaking her head.
A smile tugged at his lips, taking him aback. That seemed to happen a lot around this woman. Not only did she infuriate him and shock him, she amused the hell out of him. A worrisome combination. If he didn’t watch it, he might actually find himself enjoying her company.
As she instructed Skylar to pour the pre-measured flour, yeast, and salt in the bowl of a stand mixer, he looked around for the missing ingredient.
“You forgot a teaspoon of sugar.”
“The recipe didn’t call for sugar.”
“Well, I’m telling you it needs a teaspoon of sugar.”
One hand popped on her hip. “What are you, some secret Martha Stewart ninja?”
There went that damn tug of the lips again. “No. I’m definitely not Martha Stewart.” He couldn’t decorate to save his life. “I just happen to know a thing or two about making homemade pizza.”
She lifted Skylar to sit on the counter, then waved her hand toward the machine. “By all means, handsome, take the helm and show us ladies how it’s done.”
Just as a few minutes earlier, the challenge rang clear in her voice as she kept eye contact with him. She had no issue throwing out one, did she?
“Be prepared to be amazed.”
He added the needed sugar and turned on the mixer. As the metal hook slowly turned and combined the ingredients, he poured in the water and oil. Keeping tabs on the consistency, he added more flour or water until the dough was a perfect ball. Then he spread flour on a wooden board, put the dough on it, and started kneading.
An appreciative “Mmm,” came from his left.
He glanced over to find Gayle leaning her elbows on the counter with her chin perched on her palm. Their gazes collided, and she mouthed the words, “So hot.”