"Impressive."
Advika spun around, her heart leaping into her throat.
Sidharth stood in the doorway, still wearing his pajama bottoms but shirtless, his hair slightly mussed from sleep. He looked... different. Less composed. More human.
"I didn't mean to wake you," she said, suddenly self-conscious. She probably looked ridiculous—her robe dusted with flour, her hair in a messy bun, a smudge of chocolate on her cheek she could feel but couldn't see.
"You didn't." He moved into the kitchen with that predatory grace she'd never quite gotten used to. "I woke up and you were gone."
The words hung between them. He'd noticed her absence. That was... new.
"I couldn't sleep," Advika said, turning back to her torte. "So I came down here. Baking helps me think."
"At two in the morning?"
"Insomnia doesn't keep business hours."
He made a sound that might have been amusement. Might have been. With Sidharth, it was hard to tell.
She felt him move closer, looking over her shoulder at the finished torte. He was close enough that she could smell him—that expensive cologne mixed with something uniquely him. Close enough that her skin prickled with awareness.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Chocolate torte. Dark chocolate cake layers with espresso ganache, finished with chocolate curls and fresh raspberries." She gestured to the components as she spoke. "The espressobrings out the chocolate notes without making it taste like coffee. And the raspberries add a tartness that cuts through the richness."
"You put a lot of thought into this."
"I put thought into everything I bake." Advika glanced at him, finding his gaze already on her. Those amber eyes were less cold than usual, almost curious. "Baking isn't just following a recipe. It's understanding how flavors work together, how textures complement each other. It's chemistry and art combined."
"Philosophy of baking at two AM," Sidharth murmured. "Interesting."
"Mock all you want. This is what I love."
"I'm not mocking." He reached out, his thumb brushing across her cheek. The touch was startling in its gentleness. "You have flour. And chocolate."
Her breath caught. His hand lingered for just a second too long before dropping away.
"Occupational hazard," she managed, her voice embarrassingly breathless.
Sidharth's eyes darkened, but he stepped back, putting necessary distance between them. "Can I taste it?"
"The torte? Yes. Of course." Advika grabbed a knife, cutting a perfect slice and plating it. Her hands trembled slightly. "Fair warning—it's very rich."
She handed him the plate and a fork, watching as he took his first bite.
For a moment, his expression remained neutral. Then something shifted—his eyes widened fractionally, his posture relaxed a degree.
"This is..." He took another bite, slower this time, savoring. "This is exceptional."
Pride bloomed warm in her chest. "Thank you."
"No, I mean it." Sidharth looked at her, really looked at her, for what felt like the first time since their wedding. "This is restaurant quality. Better than restaurant quality. You made this from scratch? In the middle of the night?"
"It's what I do. What I did." The past tense tasted bitter. "When I had my bakery."
Something flickered across his face—regret, maybe. But it was gone too quickly to be sure.
"You're good at this," he said quietly. "Really good."
