Chapter 110: À Little Flour

Blanche came to the conclusion that she thoroughly hated this state of affairs.

Without rushing, he finally shaped the last loaf before sliding it into the already blazing stone oven.

The firelight briefly illuminated his profile.

Then he shut the door.

Finally.

He turned toward her.

His hands still covered in flour.

His face perfectly impassive.

As though she hadn't been waiting several minutes for an answer.

Blanche crossed her arms.

"Are you planning to answer me today, or should I come back tomorrow?"

A flicker of amusement briefly crossed his gaze.

Victory.

Tiny.

But a victory nonetheless.

He approached her.

Without answering.

Of course.

Blanche raised an eyebrow.

Bad sign.

Every time Kiyan wore that perfectly calm expression while something gleamed in his eyes, trouble was coming.

And usually at her expense.

"Aaron?"

She didn't have time to finish.

He simply grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him.

Without warning.

With a deeply irritating ease.

"Hey!"

Her protest was immediately smothered when he held her firmly against him.

Very firmly.

Far too firmly for someone claiming innocence.

Blanche understood his plan half a second too late.

"Don't you da—"

Too late.

Both flour-covered hands landed squarely on her shirt.

Deliberately.

When he finally let her go, several white handprints now decorated the dark fabric.

A silence followed.

Blanche looked down.

Then slowly raised her head.

Kiyan looked extremely pleased with himself.

Which was rare.

And therefore especially annoying.

"You seriously just wiped your hands on me?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I needed a towel."

"There are literally three dishcloths behind you."

"They were too far away."

"Aaron!"

This time, his smile appeared openly.

Small.

Subtle.

But very real.

And as always, it completely transformed his face.

Blanche felt her irritation melt away at a frankly humiliating speed.

It was unfair.

Profoundly unfair.

She scooped a little flour from her own shirt and smeared it across his cheek.

Perfectly mature.

Perfectly necessary.

Kiyan blinked.

Then lowered his head slightly toward her.

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Are you declaring war?"

"I'm defending my honor."

"Your honor is covered in flour."

"Because of you."

"Minor detail."

Blanche finally burst out laughing.

A real laugh.

Light.

Spontaneous.

And for a few seconds, amid the warmth of the oven, the smell of slowly baking bread, and this kitchen that had somehow become astonishingly alive, everything else seemed to disappear.

Except that he started his little game again.

"Hey!" Blanche cried once more.

But the man took advantage of her indignation to steal another kiss. He kissed her deeply, passionately, before finally pulling away when she was breathless.

"Good morning," he whispered into her ear before brushing a kiss against the back of her neck.

Caught completely off guard, her mind blank, she tried in vain to pull herself together.

Her legs started trembling, and Aaron noticed immediately.

He visibly struggled to restrain himself.

Then he suddenly released her and turned back toward his cooking as though nothing had happened.

Blanche stood there, red as a tomato, eyes wide, breathing hard.

Good grief...

What was wrong with this man?

The air suddenly felt much hotter.

She watched him for a moment.

His movements had become noticeably more tense.

As if he, too, was trying very hard to regain control of himself.

Blanche decided it was probably safest to retreat.

Immediately.

She fled to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

The moment it clicked shut, her legs gave out.

She slid down against the cool tiles, which slowly helped calm her racing thoughts.

Honestly, that made twice in just a few hours...

"Now that," she murmured dreamily, "is what I call a good day."

Once she had recovered, she stood and examined herself in the mirror.

Aaron had definitely left his mark.

Her tank top, once black, now leaned heavily toward gray thanks to all the flour.

She could clearly make out the fingerprints across her chest and sides.

When had he even managed that?

She shook her head, amused, feeling strangely lighthearted.

They spent the next two days like that before the others finally began returning.

The most affectionate weekend Blanche had ever experienced.

Aaron had been patient, attentive, almost disarmingly gentle.

He never pushed beyond the boundaries she set, always respecting her pace—even during the moments when she secretly wished he wouldn't be quite so reasonable.

Whenever he sensed her limits beginning to waver, he would simply leave the room without a word and return later.

Blanche often laughed about it.

He was so adorable.

And Aaron found himself smiling whenever he heard her laughter.

It had been so long since that sound had echoed through the barracks.

The rest of the time, they simply spent together.

Talking about everything and nothing.

Learning about one another slowly.

Sometimes they merely sat side by side without saying a word.

The silence between them was deeply comforting.

Then the others arrived.

Blanche hurried to use Rest to erase the last visible traces Aaron had left behind.

Nicky was the first to react.

Or rather, the first to notice.

Which, when it came to Nicky, was often equivalent to throwing a lit match into a powder magazine.