Maya's POV
Flour got everywhere.
I'd predicted it, and it still managed to exceed expectations. Aria had taken the rolling pin with the confidence of someone who'd done this a hundred times, which she had, and within four minutes there was flour on the counter, on her shirt, on my sleeve, and somehow on the ceiling above the stove.
Luca stood at the counter with his section of dough and rolled it with the same quiet precision he brought to everything and I watched him from across the kitchen and felt the specific pleasure of seeing someone capable of learning something new without ego about learning.
"Too thick," Aria told him.
He looked at his dough. "How thick."
She held her fingers apart. "Like this."
He adjusted.
She watched. Nodded once. "Better."
"Thank you."
"You're a fast
