juststopped | (no subject)

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krem

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This time, she's going to make sure that they eat dinner. She's got bread in the over, pasta bubbling away - nothing particularly exciting, a similar dish to the one that she'd eaten the first time they ate together. She's dressed comfortably because she's staying at home, in capris and a pretty blouse, barefoot in her kitchen with her hair caught into a braid over one shoulder. She's spent enough time around Krem that she feels entirely comfortable in his company but there's still a flutter of anticipation at knowing that he's on his way.

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"Top cupboard," says Adaline, pointing over her shoulder. She takes a moment to just watch him moving around in her smooth, handsome and broad. He's an entirely reassuring presence. Adaline can feel herself getting used to having him around.

"Of course it's in the top cupboard, did you also put them on the top shelf?" Krem laughed, going to the indicated cupboard. "Did you want to see me jump or climb on your counters or something?"

Even as he said it, he reached easily for the plates, sought out the wine glasses, then found her cutlery drawer as well, and went to her table to set it. He was quite certain, if his mother could have seen him, she would have given him a dressing for back sassing about setting the table; but then, his mother would have given him a dressing for more than just that.

"Oh, stop," says Adaline, rolling her eyes at home, bending over to take the bread out of the oven. It's turned out pretty well, even if she does admit it herself. "You're not that short."

"The difference between me and a Dwarf is less than four inches and a subterranean lifestyle," Krem quipped from the dinner table, peering over as she bent over to take out the bread. He didn't even bother to act like he wasn't looking at her appreciatively, though he shifted his gaze to the bread once she'd turned all the way around.

"Well, it doesn't matter when you're lying down, now does it?" says Adaline, bringing the bread to the table and then going back to the stove, starting to transfer the pasta into something she can serve from. She shoots him a slightly wicked look.

Krem tilted his head back and laughed, even if his cheeks colored a little at the teasing. As she passed him, he reached out and gave her ass a swat for it even; they seemed to be at that point in whatever this was between them, the casualness of their banter and a physicality that had been between them quickly.

"I certainly make up for the difference."

The slap makes Adaline laugh, her own cheeks colouring slightly as she comes back to the table with the pasta and sets it down.

"I believe you," she says, starting to serve pasta for both of them.

Krem picked up a knife for the bread and cut into it, thick, hearty slices. He smiled, watching it release steam, making sure there were a few slices cut before setting the knife aside with a satisfied smile.

"Where's the wine?"

"Refrigerator," says Adaline, carrying the pasta and serving utensils to the table before she slides into her seat and just watches him. "I could get used to this."

"Yeah, slave labor," Krem quipped mildly, going to the refrigerator to suss out the bottle of wine and deal with opening it while he was still in there. It gave the bottle a few moments to breathe while he carried it back to the table, smiling at her softly.

"You don't think I'd make a good mistress?" she teases, starting to serve the food as he brings the wine back to the table. "I'd be very benevolent and fair."

"Oh, surely the best," Krem said, though his voice took on a slightly distant tone, even for the teasing. He had no one to blame for that but himself; he'd been the one to start the line of teasing, and he either had to stop it lamely or allow it to continue.

The thing of it was that he wasn't entirely sure which he wanted. The teasing meant nothing. There was a sort of appeal, though; much like there was to everything about Adaline.

He poured her some of the wine, smiling softly.

He pours the wine and Adaline serves them both pasta, getting up from the table again when she realises that she's forgotten the butter. She sets it down on the table and then settles into her chair.

"I hope it's edible," she says. "At least I'm actually feeding you dinner instead of just dessert?"

"I'm sure it will be. It smells very good," he assured, and sat down in his chair, smiling softly. He poured himself some wine, put a slice of bread on the side of her plate before grabbing one for himself.

"You were hardly complaining about only getting dessert, as I remember."

"Well, it was excellent dessert," says Adaline, her eyebrow quirking, showing that the cake isn't the only thing she's talking about, even if she's acting prim. "I was very satisfied."

Krem smiled, sweet and innocent, like they weren't being deliberate and flirtatious with each other like they had been since that first night they'd spent together. Like Adaline wasn't a beautiful specimen, comely with her plait against her neck, practically asking Krem's eyes to trace down the line of her throat.

He focused on the food, for now. There was every opportunity for other things later. And it would be rather nice to prove that he had the ability to behave himself, that he didn't just view her as something sexual. He was here because he enjoyed her and her time, before anything else.

Adaline falls into companionable silence for a moment, taking the first bite of her food and finding her relieved that it's not only edible but actually tasty. She chews an then reaches for her wine.

"Did you have a good day, today?" she asks. "Were you at work?"

"At the shop, yes. I have something like thirty standing commissions to finish by the end of the week, plus all the dailies." He shrugged and laughed softly. "Miracle my fingers haven't fallen off yet. Everyone's always so impressed I do all my tailoring by hand, but I never learned any other way."

He dug into the pasta, happy for it. He hummed happily at the flavors, content with everything for a moment.

"Well, I learned to sew when I was a girl, but I was never better than functional, I'm afraid." She said, smiling against the rim of her wine glass. "Would you make me something? When you're not so busy, I mean?"

"They tried to get me to use the machines, the first day. I jammed it up horribly and broke seven needles in an hour. In the next, I did three pieces that they said should have taken me two days, all by hand."

He hummed softly. "I probably could make something, from scratch. I know more about tailoring than drafting. But I could try my hand at it. You'd have to be available for fittings and such." He smiled a little. "Such a trial, I'm sure."

"I can mend socks?" says Adaline, laughing a little, shaking her head. "Oh, well, if I'd have to be available for fittings. With you?" She shakes her head and sets her wine glass down. "I've reconsidered."

"When I was young, growing up, our family's shop would sometimes get in neighbors bartering work out? Wives with their stockings and dresses for food things; we had a good rapport with one of the cloth merchants and one of the cobblers because we'd mend just about anything of theirs."

Krem smiled nostalgically. "I did a lot of the fine-craft mending. Things that needed needle work to cover up things, it couldn't just be patched. Not the most handsome embroidery you've ever seen, but remarkable, especially when I was ten or so."

He tilted his wine glass to her, shrugged. Ate some more of everything before he continued. "My mother wanted to marry me off to that clothier or his eldest son so badly."

"But here you are instead?" She smiles, enjoying listening to him talk, enjoying that he feels relaxed enough to share these things with her. She can't imagine telling him the truth about herself, not yet, but hopefully he wouldn't hold that against her if she ever managed to tell him. "Selfishly, I'm happy this is how things turned out."

"Here I am instead," Krem said with a little smile. There was so much in between his mother's various instances on his marriage and arriving in Darrow, but Krem wasn't sure how much of that was really important. How much of it was worth discussing.

He ate quietly a moment more, sipped his wine, grabbed a second slice of bread and hummed a compliment.

There were words on his tongue. Questions, curiosities. He needed to stop depending on liquid courage for any of it, but he couldn't find himself avoiding the wine, for the moment, as he tried to navigate the order of his words.

She can see the look on his face, the way he seems to be working up to something. She pauses tilting her head.

"What?"