{22}

Tyler was a natural in the kitchen. He moved with such ease and grace throughout and didn’t ask to go through my cupboards or drawers to find what he needed. I honestly didn’t mind. I got this warm and fuzzy feeling in my belly, watching him. “Where did you learn to cook?” I asked, as I moved out of his way, while he was measuring flour. “Wait, are we making homemade dough?” He looked at me like I grew two heads. “How else are we going to make pizza?” I tilted my head. “I learned how to cook from my mom. Both my parents immigrated to New Jersey from Italy. That’s where I was born though. We moved to New Jersey when I was 4.”

“We were practically neighbors then. I am from New York. Born and raised. But not the city. I am from Buffalo.” I said and he grinned at me. “I’ve been to Niagara Falls before when I was in high school. It was a class trip” he shrugged and went back to measuring flour. I laughed. I didn’t want to mess him up, but I bumped him over a bit, so I could watch