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“What do you have planned for dinner?”
Natasha’s voice floated through the speakers in his car and Bruce shook his head with a chuckle.
“I could go for some pizza,” he answered.
She hummed appreciatively through the phone and he heard a drawer open in the background.
“The usual place?” she questioned.
“I was thinking we could make our own pizzas together.”
She laughed at that and Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle.
“We don’t have anything to make pizza,” she pointed out, sounding smug even over the phone.
But he was ready for that. “I already stopped at the store.”
He turned down their street as she said. “I hope you like burnt pizza.”
Bruce sighed at her dramatics. “It’ll be fine,” he sighed. “I’m pulling in now.”
“See you in a few.”
She hung up and music started playing through the speakers again. Bruce stopped at the end of their winding driveway to check the mail. Nothing but catalogs this time of year, but he tossed it in the passenger’s seat and drove the rest of the way to the house.
Natasha was waiting for him in the mud room. When he entered the house with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.
“Hi,” he said, kicking his shoes off and smiling at her softly.
She took the mail from him and kissed him quickly before leading the way into the kitchen.
“How was your day?” she asked, flipping through the mail.
Bruce set the bag of pizza making groceries on the counter and shrugged.
“It was uneventful,” he answered and turned to face her. “What’d you do today?”
“So much paperwork,” she said with a frown.
He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She leaned back against his chest and he dropped a kiss to her shoulder. They stood together like that for several long moments. Bruce could have stood there all night with her, but his stomach grumbled, effectively breaking the moment.
Natasha snickered and he let her go.
“Did you eat lunch?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at him.
Bruce looked down and rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”
He’d meant to get something from the student center, but he’d been so absorbed in his work he hadn’t noticed how much time passed until it was already dark outside and it was time for him to pack up and head home.
“Let’s get to it, then.”
Bruce smiled as she rolled up her sleeves and turned to wash her hands in the sink. He followed suit and started unpacking the grocery bags.
“What do we do first?” she asked, sidling up to his side and standing hip to hip with him.
“I was going to start the sauce,” he said, setting aside the cans of crushed tomatoes and tomato paste. “Do you want to make the dough for the crust?”
Her eyes were wide when he looked over at her and he let out a soft chuckle.
“Are you sure you want me to make to do it?” she asked dubiously. “I was thinking I could just put the toppings on at the end.”
“You’ll be fine.” He stepped around her to pull the recipes he’d found off the fridge and handed her the one for the dough. “Here, it’s easy.”
She took the paper and smirked at him. “I’ll do my best.”
“I believe in you,” he said and found a pan for the sauce.
Natasha moved over to the opposite counter where there was more room and Bruce started working on putting the sauce together. He had everything in the pan and was stirring it together when he felt her hovering over his shoulder.
He turned his head to see her watching him closely. “Smells amazing.”
“Try some,” he said and pulled the spoon out of the pan and held it out for her to taste.
She ate the little bit of sauce from the tip of the spoon and hummed appreciatively. She licked the excess off her lips and Bruce swallowed thickly.
“It’s good,” she said with a sly smile. She knew what she was doing.
“How’s the dough coming?”
She looked over her shoulder and grabbed the bowl to show him the cloudy liquid floating at the bottom.
“Yummy,” he commented, deadpan.
She pinched his side playfully and set the bowl back on the counter.
“I’m following the instructions,” she argued. “This has to sit for another minute before I can add the flour and stuff.”
“Do you want some help while this simmers?” he offered, putting the lid on the pan.
Natasha shook her head. “I think I can handle it.”
“Suddenly so confident?” he teased, raising his eyebrows at her.
She shot a glare over her shoulder at him. “This is three steps, it’s easy.”
Bruce raised his hands in surrender and leaned against the counter to face her.
“Maybe tomorrow we can try something a little more difficult,” he suggested.
“Maybe.” She shrugged and started adding flour to the mixture in the bowl. “Or I could watch you make it.”
She looked over her shoulder and winked. Bruce laughed and shook his head.
“It couldn’t hurt to learn,” he said.
“I know enough to get by,” she argued, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Why else would I keep you around.”
Bruce gasped dramatically and held his chest. “That really hurts Nat.”
“You’ll be fine,” she said, rolling her eyes at his antics and flicking some flour at him. “I think it’s ready.”
She turned around with the bowl in her hands, the dough in one big lump at the bottom.
“Looks great. The sauce will be ready soon,” he said.
“What did you get for toppings?” she asked setting the bowl down and reaching for the bag left on the counter.
“Pepperoni and mushrooms for me,” he said, “and olives and banana peppers for you.”
He made a face and she rolled her eyes at him.
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” she said poking him in the chest.
Bruce grabbed her hand before she could pull it away.
“I don’t think so.”
Natasha stepped closer and drew herself up to get in his face. She stared him down, but Bruce didn’t back down. He couldn’t help but laugh and she softened a little. It was ridiculous, arguing over whose pizza choices were superior, but it was the kind of simple happiness he’d never imagined he could have. He leaned forward to kiss her softly.
She wrinkled her nose and mumbled, “cheater,” against his lips.
Bruce pulled away and nodded his head in the direction of the stove.
“The sauce is almost ready. Wanna roll out the dough?”
“Should we do one big pizza or two little ones,” she asked, finding the rolling pin in one of the drawers.
Bruce bent down to dig to dig the big circular pan he bought to make pizzas and set it down beside her bowl on the counter.
“I think one big one should be good,” he said and she put some flour on the counter. “Don’t forget to put a little oil on the pan so it doesn’t stick.”
She gave him a little salute and set to work rolling out the dough. Bruce turned the stove off and turned the oven on to preheat.
He turned around to help her roll out the dough, pulling it while she bumped his hip with hers. They got it stretched out and she went to retrieve the sauce from the stove.
He watched her steal a bite of it and flicked some flour at her.
“Save some for the pizza,” he said, reaching for the pan, but she held it out of reach.
Slowly and deliberately she dipped the spoon in the pan and took another bite.
Bruce pursed his lips and stuck his hand in the leftover flour on the counter and wiped it down her arm.
Her eyes widened, but she handed over the pan. He smiled at her smug and triumphant.
“I’ll get you back,” she promised, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. He was sure she would, but right now he was hungry.
She helped him get the dough on the pan and he spread the over it evenly. Natasha brought over the toppings and they each topped their own half. Bruce noticed Natasha trying to slip olives onto his half and nudged her with his elbow.
“Stay on your side,” he said, spreading extra cheese over his toppings.
“This is my side,” she argued, putting a few olives on what was clearly his side.
Bruce pushed them away from his slices and saw her amused smirk.
The oven beeped and Bruce snatched up the pan before she could get anymore ideas. He slid it easily in the oven and set the timer. He turned back to Natasha. She’d started cleaning up the mess on the counter, collecting the flour into the palm of her hand. There was a devilish glint in her eye and Bruce knew exactly where this was going.
He held his hands up in surrender. “Natasha,” he said, but he knew it was futile.
She blew the flour in his face and laughed loud in full at the mess she’d made.
Bruce opened his eyes and coughed, a cloud of flour flying through the air between them.
“Was that really necessary?” He asked.
Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Completely.”
“Okay,” he said and shook out his hair, getting some of it on her in the process. “We’re even.”
“Truce,” she conceded and stepped in his space again to wipe some of the flour away from his eyes. “This was fun,” she told him quietly like it was a secret.
“That was the point,” he whispered back.
“What should we make tomorrow?” she asked and Bruce leaned back to meet her gaze.
“Whatever you want,” he said and kissed her again.