Chapter 57
Sticky Fingers
Ironically, bringing Elyna into his living space left him more nervous than any step they’d taken before. Exposing his way of life, his habits, to her scrutiny suddenly felt too intimate.
True to herself, Elyna had fallen in love with his spartan room, the tatami mats and traditional futon calling to her historian’s heart.
He idly wondered if she would still say the same after spending the night.
The very thought of nestling beside hers in his traditional bedding, of having her scent infuse his sheets made his heart flip-flop in anticipation.
As the sun dipped, they relocated to the kitchen to prepare dinner. While he worked on their main dish, drinking a glass of white wine for good measure, Elyna struggled with marzipan recipe. He was just setting a cover on the chicken when an egg exploded in her hand. “Damn it!”
Kazuki abandoned the wine in favour of sliding behind Elyna, arm circling her waist while the other offered a bowl. The young woman leant into him instinctively, fishing eggshell pieces out of her mixture methodically.
“I remember this amazing scene in Hannibal where Mads Mikkelsen cracks an egg with the spatula like magic.”
He couldn’t help but grimace as she flicked away a piece that stubbornly stuck to her finger; he’d heard enough about that series from Keiko to know he would never, ever, consider watching it. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen all the seasons.”
“Ah, no. Just a few. Mum and I are kinda fans, but it was a little too dark for our taste.” After washing her hands, Elyna turned in the circle of his arms; he found himself drowning in her stormy eyes.
That it happened a hundred times a day was irrelevant.
Kazuki would live and die in that sea of emotions.
“But that scene was awesome,” she chuckled. “And then you see the bloopers…”
His eyebrows knitted in confusion, but Elyna just smiled. “ … it was such a mess, but the actor takes it in stride and launches that egg in the air over and over again. He’s so brilliant.”
Favourite actor? I’ll have to research him.
“The name rings a bell,” he admitted, more distracted by the flour dusting her cheek.
“But he’s even better in Danish movies.”
Elyna reached for her glass of wine as he froze. “In Danish? Do you speak Danish too?”
She frowned, looking adorably confused. “Ah, all Norwegian and Swedish understand Danish, and vice versa. The languages are very close.”
Sheepish, Kazuki deflated. “Oh, I didn’t know.”
Because how would he learn the structure of three languages spoken on the other side of the world?
Yet, Elyna knew the difference between simplified Chinese and Japanese characters.
And had notions of many, many more languages.
That she’d chosen him, plain and homeroomy Kazuki, made him feel both grateful and strangely inadequate.
Oblivious, Elyna took a sip of her wine and licked her lips. “That actor is pretty fascinating. Whether he plays a cannibal, or a lonely man in some small Danish film, it just works. That movie was about cognitive bias, I found it fascinating.”
Cognitive bias. Sure.
Sometimes, Kazuki wondered how long it would take for her to surpass him. Following her intellectual leaps could prove challenging; her brain was a maze, flexible and always alight with fireworks.
Wouldn’t she get bored with a down-to-earth man like him in the long run? His hands pressed her hips, anchoring himself to her. “What does that dough think of cognitive bias?” he murmured, kissing her temple tenderly.
Elyna surged up to nip his jaw. A delicious shiver ran up his spine as she chuckled. “OK. Let’s knead!”
She returned to work with newfound purpose. Kazuki watched her measure up ground almonds and sugar. She added two egg whites, without shells, and started stirring. As the mixture turned into a sticky mess, Kazuki’s attention was coaxed elsewhere.
Her sweater was a siren’s call, sliding off the shoulder enticingly. The sight of that delicious curve stirred his blood until he broke and pressed his lips on the spot. Once, twice, he savoured the way she melted against him. Elyna froze for a moment, then laughed and tried to nudge him away.
“You’re distracting me,” she accused, leaning against his frame all the same.
“That’s the sweater you wore at the Nationals,” he breathed, dropping another set of kisses on her heated flesh. She cocked her head aside to catch his eyes, surprise etched on her features. “You remember what I was wearing?”
“Oh, I do,” he admitted. “I just couldn’t take my eyes off you.” Elyna pointed one of her sticky fingers in his direction, cheeks inflating like a chipmunk. “Well, you hid it well. And I thought I was the only one pining!”
The gesture was rude enough to warrant retaliation; he captured the offending appendage in his mouth and ran his tongue around the pad to taste the mixture. Elyna’s eyes widened, pupils dilating as she watched him lick it clean.
The tremor that ran through her lithe frame was as delicious as her skin. He leant down to capture her lips, tasting the sweetness of her homemade marzipan. Elyna moulded herself around him, careful to keep her hands away. Yet, her body was pliant, almost vibrant with need.
The wanton moan she released hit him like a fiery whip. Elyna was opening like a flower. If he dragged her to bed again … there would be no dinner tonight. Kazuki reluctantly stepped back and pointed to the mixture. “Show me how it’s done, my golden lady.”
Elyna took a shaky breath, chest heaving. Then she obliged, returning to the sticky mess splattered in the bowl.
Kazuki watched. The kneading movement was mesmerising enough to soothe him. Once the dough was deemed acceptable, she set it down on the counter.
Elyna’s fingers danced on the mixture, rolling and shaping it, adding flour for texture. Every movement mobilised her entire body; it reminded him of a soba master Shintarō had shown him on YouTube[20]. An artist who explained how he used his five senses to optimise texture.
“You know, for someone who claims she doesn’t cook, you certainly have the sense,” Kazuki remarked. Elyna beamed at him, then rolled the mixture to create long caterpillars. “I sometimes made bread with Grandma. She taught me to work the dough like this.”
“Do you still know how to make some?”
A wistful expression bloomed on her face. “I’m not sure. My grandma used a piece of dough from the day before to use as starter, but I never asked her about it.”
A wavy strand came to caress her cheekbone; she blew it away with a huff. “Perhaps, yes. That would be fun. She always allowed me to make a small bun, and Aksel too…”
Sadness seeped into her expression; alarm bells blared in his mind. “So does your father cook?” he asked. Elyna smiled.
Phew, good save!
“Oh, he does! When we hopped around the world, he was the one trying out recipes,” she chuckled. “He sometimes makes such messes … more or less. Well, it always turned out edible … mostly.”
He took a slow sip of wine, smiling at the image. “A nice reversal of standard roles.”
“Yeah.” Elyna gathered the dough into a ball. “Mum is an amazing cook, but she only bothers on occasions. She follows her recipes like equations, so the result is top notch.”
“But?” He heard the hesitation in her voice, the unspoken criticism. She shrugged, glancing up at him before returning her attention to the dough. “It almost feels … stifled. Whatever she makes always tastes exactly the same, do you see what I mean?”
Oh yes. He could relate far too well. Academic cooking had been his ex-fiancée’s approach. Measured and precise, with a strong aversion to creativity. He had been banned from the kitchen. “No inspiration?”
“Ditto!”
His eyebrows rose, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Elyna giggled. Her delighted laughter was intoxicating; his chest swelled with pride at being its unwitting instigator.
Kazuki’s smile widened; he was already planning the future without permission from his rational mind. He would feed her both proper food and crazy ideas to experiment with. In time, they would make a phenomenal team, testing things on a whim, learning each other’s tastes.
Dangerous thoughts. He took another sip of wine.
“How about you, Tsuki?”
The nickname still caught him off-guard. He cleared his throat to dispel the tightness in his chest. “I’m decent. We take turns with Shintarō; the perks of having a flatmate.”
“Decent?” She glanced at him sceptically, wiping flour on the dish towel at her hip. The gesture left a white streak across her dark jeans. She pointed to the chicken he’d roasted earlier.
“That looks pretty appetising.”
Heat crept up his neck. “Ah. It’s because I’m sticking to my safe recipe. I don’t have many. I only started cooking when I moved in here.”
“Oh?” Her hands stilled on the dough, and she tilted her head with genuine curiosity. Those storm-blue eyes fixed on him, open, entirely too easy to talk to. “What did you eat before, Mister Health-Class-Nutrition-Is-Important?”
He should have said “takeout” or “convenience store bentos” or literally anything else. Instead, his mouth opened and the truth fell out: “My ex…”
He caught the word fiancée before it could tumble out. Damn the wine. Damn those eyes.
The words landed between them like a stone.
Kazuki wanted to bash his head on the counter. Repeatedly. He never talked about her… Not with colleagues and barely with Shintarō. He’d locked that part of his life away five years ago. The last thing he wanted was to drag that failure into this kitchen, into this moment with Elyna.
Elyna’s expression flickered before she returned to the dough. “Oh. OK.”
The casual dismissal stung worse than questions would have. She was giving him an escape route, being polite, not prying. Exactly what he should want. So why did it feel like he’d just slammed a door between them?
Smooth, Kazuki. Really smooth.
The silence that stretched between them was less than comfortable; he reached for the wine bottle, desperate for something to do with his hands. “Another glass?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He poured for both of them, scrambling for anything to say. The easy banter had evaporated, leaving awkwardness in its wake.
Why did you bring her up? He wanted to explain. To assure Elyna that the woman he’d lived with for years belonged to the past, and didn’t come close to the one standing in his kitchen, right now. But how could he say any of that without revealing too much?
Instead, Kazuki watched Elyna’s lips as she savoured her wine. Her hands cutting the dough into small squares, rolling them around like little snowballs. He sank into the meditative movements, so close, yet so far.
After a while, he felt the sensuality of her gesture coax him out of his self-imposed confinement.
“Want a taste?” she asked.
Kazuki blinked, marvelling that she was the one reaching out to him. When she popped a little piece of marzipan in his mouth, fingers caressing his lower lip, he whimpered. Sugar exploded on his tongue, the sweetness of Elyna’s warmth.
He smiled, because how could he not?
Is that what human spontaneous combustion feels like?