AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
She tilts her head to the other side, playing at thoughtfulness, stretching out her answer into a hummed reply. "Metal?" Amalia repeats, the syllables blown across his knuckles, as though she has forgotten the nature of her gift. Lacing her fingers into his, she drops their hands and smiles like sunshine, innocent and innocuous, cherubic and sweet, as though there is not mischief glittering behind her onyx eyes. "No, not metal," the girl replies, giving a shake of her tawny head, gold hair dancing upon her neck. Then she laughs, stepping forward, pressing her body briefly against his, standing on tiptoes, her mouth upon his cheek, a whisper in his ear. "Do you surrender?" It might have been something scandalous, for all her subterfuge, her darkened tone and hooded eyes, her brush of lips and teeth. It might still be: a challenge, a dare, a question of dominance and its price, of victories vied for again and again. Do I win? Will you fight? Shall I make you my prize?watching stars collide
She slips away on dancing feet, widening the space as easily as she closed it, a vibrant laugh ringing from her throat. She is happy, and wild, a hot summer breeze, enraptured and rapturous, unstoppable with glee. The promise of something useful has her puzzled once more, curiosity rampant and hot in her veins. Lower lip slipping thoughtfully behind her teeth, Amalia twists with consideration, the basket and its bounty still clutched behind her back. "Quite useful," the baker coyly repeats, an eyebrow raised with implication, that first word honey on her tongue. Many things could be useful to her, to them, and in light of recent misadventures she feels a shiver of possibility at the thought of any potential gift. Not that she thinks he has crafted something scandalous- but oh, she has found it is fun to tease.
"Is it a loaf mold? And if not- will I use for baking, or, ah, something else?"
