His explanation left Ophelia’s gaze widen as she eyed the ovals worriedly, “baby chickens…?” She tapped it lightly with her finger before pulling it to her ear, listening for any signs of life. Although gods were merciless to the point of eating their own children, at least it was frowned upon and they didn’t use it in a holiday. Before she could question the other’s morals, he re-emerged with more tools that seemed more like torture devices. She watches and listened, enthralled with his task and his tale. “Homemade…like what?” Her head tilting before widening once more at the ovals cracking open to reveal a little yellow thing. “Oh my Zeus…” Hearing his change of tone, she bit her lip suspiciously. “Mistletoe? Is that another baby animal you crack open?”
Being handed an odd two-armed contraption, she shook her head wildly. “I don’t want to make a mess…” She tensed up, but instantly felt her muscles relax at the sight of his pearly whites. He had no clue what affect he had on her. Sighing, she took the machine in hand. Her eyes glowing a bit before tightening her grip, he never said she couldn’t enchant the machine a bit. Placing the machine in gently, she switched the lever to low as she felt the jolt of energy as the ‘beaters’ spun rapidly whilst mixing the ingredients. Her eyes aglow,s he became a bit too cocky as she lost control and the switched turned to high. Spitting out batter all over the two, just as she pulled it out to try to stop it. When it finally slowed to a stop, she glanced up at Cardinal with a crestfallen expression that was half covered in the spillage. “It seems that hand creaming has no heart to control….I knew I would make a mess….” She glanced down, feeling guilty for ruining everything.
“Like knitted scarves and sweaters or carved trinkets. I—uh,” clearing his throat as cheeks heated, the Hood admitted, “like to cross-stitch different designs too.” On autopilot, he added the ingredients to their batter as she mixed, chatting absent-mindedly. “Actually, it’s a plant! This time of year, mistletoe gets hung up in doorways or from lights.” While he had every intention of bemoaning his Christmas kiss-less life led thus far, blatantly ignoring that he’d never wanted to kiss anyone before, the conniving boy never got the chance.
Gasping, hands flew to shield his face as the dough hit the fan, literally and figuratively. When it was all over and the pair of them were splattered with a good helping of sugary butter, the consummate baker peered helplessly at her downtrodden expression, biting back the urge to laugh. Swiping at some of the creamy substance on her cheek carefully, he drew the slight form in for a tight hug. “Oh, darling, it’s okay. Everyone makes a mess their first time! That’s half the fun.” Fingertips rubbed consolatory circles against silken skin. “I should’ve just given you a spoon, not the mixer. It’s my fault. Will you forgive me?” A silly thought occurred to him and coffee hues glanced up hopefully. “Darn, that would’ve been a perfect moment for mistletoe. We’ll have to use our imaginations.” Thumb ran along the edge of her jawline as pert lips met their match with the same accelerated pulse that always plagued him when Opal was around. Soft and slow, they moved until he’d nearly forgotten baking altogether.
Pulling back with a barely repressed giggle, he apologized, “Sorry, I know our pretty aprons are dirty, but do you want to keep trying? I promise it gets easier.”
