“You’re staring again,” she said, not looking up.
“I’m learning through observation.”
“You’re memorizing my hands.”
“Your hands are very memorable.”
“That’s an extraordinarily odd compliment.”
“Would you prefer an ordinary one?”
“I’d prefer you actually assist rather than standing there as though the flour might attack.”
“The flour and I have a complicated history.”
“The flour is innocent,” she said crisply. “You’re the one who turned it into a weapon.”
“That was accidental weaponization.”
“There is no such thing.”
“There is when I’m involved.”
Her laugh, bright and quick, filled the warm air between them. He hadn’t realized until that sound how long he’d gone without hearing it, how much lighter the world became when she let herself laugh.
“Very well,” she said, moving beside him. “Let us try again—properly this time.”
Unlike before, she didn’t stand at a distance issuing instructions. She came close, close enough for him to feel the brush of her sleeve against his arm. Her hand covered his as she guided it into the bowl. “Feel how it comes together,” she murmured, her breath stirring the curls near his temple. “Not too firm. Just enough to bind.”
He swallowed. “This feels different from before.”
“The dough?”
“Everything. You. This. Us.”
Her hands stilled, though she didn’t move away. “It is different.”
“How?”
“I spent the entire day telling the dough about you.”
He turned his head slightly. “You talked to the dough about me?”
“It listens better than most men,” she said with a faint smile.
“And what did you tell it?”
“That I’m tired of being angry,” she said softly. “That anger is exhausting. And that you…”
“I what?”
She turned to face him fully. Flour dusted her dress, her hair, even her cheek, and in the flickering light she looked both ridiculous and radiant. “You’re worth the risk.”
The noise of the room seemed to fade—the chatter, the clatter of bowls, even the hiss of the oven. There was only Marianne, close enough that he could see the minute tremor in her breath, and the unfamiliar, fragile hope curling between them.
“Marianne...”
She broke the spell with a brisk smile. “We should roll the dough before it grows too warm.”
