your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
"Lecca la ruggine!" Flora sings out toward Mateo with the triumphant lilt of someone who definitely knows what she’s saying and absolutely butchered the pronunciation. Her accent is nowhere near as melodic as her brother or dad, but the sass carries it home as she tosses her curls over one shoulder with dramatic flair.
Turning back to Kaisel, her expression softens instantly, like she’s made of nothing but sun and seafoam when she looks at him. "If you get anything more on you," she warns sweetly, fingers brushing down his flour-spattered cardigan with theatrical concern, "you might just need to change." Her eyebrows bounce as she adds, far too innocently, "I could help with that, obviously."
His is the sort of affection that sinks into your bones, and with his hands bracketing her waist, the feeling of him makes her breath catch low in her throat. It’s stupid, honestly, how a simple touch can make her feel like she’s glowing from the inside out, all fizzy warmth and fluttery nerves. She wrinkles her nose, utterly twitterpated, the kind of love-drunk that makes her want to giggle and cry and kiss him until the sun burns out. "Noooo, definitely no bribes." Her voice is syrup-thick with affection, every syllable wrapped in adoration. "A few threats, though," she adds with a shrug, just as he leans in to kiss her cheek. She catches the corner of his apron as he slips away, her fingers dragging briefly through the fabric like she can’t quite help herself.
Settling on a stool nearby, she props her chin on her hand as Kaisel joins the dad brigade. The sight is too good, too sweet, and she files it away somewhere soft inside her heart for later. Maybe for always.
"Oh yeah, the eggs have been very bright lately," she agrees, smirking at Kaisel’s mention of the chair attack. "They’ve also started colour-coding my outfits. Every morning I find clothes laid out, and if I stray too far from their suggestions, my tea goes cold like...immediately."
Turning back to Kaisel, her expression softens instantly, like she’s made of nothing but sun and seafoam when she looks at him. "If you get anything more on you," she warns sweetly, fingers brushing down his flour-spattered cardigan with theatrical concern, "you might just need to change." Her eyebrows bounce as she adds, far too innocently, "I could help with that, obviously."
His is the sort of affection that sinks into your bones, and with his hands bracketing her waist, the feeling of him makes her breath catch low in her throat. It’s stupid, honestly, how a simple touch can make her feel like she’s glowing from the inside out, all fizzy warmth and fluttery nerves. She wrinkles her nose, utterly twitterpated, the kind of love-drunk that makes her want to giggle and cry and kiss him until the sun burns out. "Noooo, definitely no bribes." Her voice is syrup-thick with affection, every syllable wrapped in adoration. "A few threats, though," she adds with a shrug, just as he leans in to kiss her cheek. She catches the corner of his apron as he slips away, her fingers dragging briefly through the fabric like she can’t quite help herself.
Settling on a stool nearby, she props her chin on her hand as Kaisel joins the dad brigade. The sight is too good, too sweet, and she files it away somewhere soft inside her heart for later. Maybe for always.
"Oh yeah, the eggs have been very bright lately," she agrees, smirking at Kaisel’s mention of the chair attack. "They’ve also started colour-coding my outfits. Every morning I find clothes laid out, and if I stray too far from their suggestions, my tea goes cold like...immediately."
