I nod.
"All right, grab the sugar for me. We need to use about half as much sugar as we've got pastry."
"That's a lot of sugar."
"It is," he agrees. "But luckily, I think it can be spared considering that this is your kitchen."
"It's not my kitchen."
He snorts. "Maybe it's not officially your kitchen, but the only reason I'm allowed to use it during this visit is because the Falhaven staff know that you won't be upset about me being here. None of the others from Wafeland have been allowed access."
"I didn't know."
"In fairness, we've been here for less than a day."
Guilt worms its way through me. "And here I am making you bake."
"You're not making me do anything, Evie," he promises. "I have been looking forward to tonight since the moment I knew I could come to Falhaven."
My heart flutters in response. "Me too. Well, since I got your letter."
"I would bake with you every night I'm here if I could."
"Why can't you?" I whisper.
He looks at me with an intensity that would make me uncomfortable with anyone else. But this is Nate. Everything about him is comforting to me. "There's no reason I can't if it's what you want."
I swallow hard. "I'd like that."
"Good. Then we should finish this so that you can have a new recipe for your book," he says. "Spread the sugar like you would flour," he says.
"All right..." It's an unusual instruction, but I follow it.
"Now press the dough down into it, then do the other side. You're trying to get as much sugar into it as possible," he says. "Then use the rolling pin to roll it out more over the sugar."
I nod, doing what he suggests and getting more curious about what he's planning on having us make. The sugar is grainier than doing this over flour, and I don't love the way it feels against my skin, but I push through it. "What's next?" I ask when most of the sugar has been incorporated into the dough.
"Fold the two sides in towards each other. About a quarter of the way in. Then again."
"Got it." I carefully follow his instructions. I wish I had them written down, but it's easy enough to follow Nate's words.
"Then over again so that it's folded in on itself," he says. "Then press down a little."
"Where did you learn to do this?" I ask as I do what he says.
"One of the chefs I was studying with in Gaullesse taught me it," he says. "She grew up there, so knew a lot of tricks like this."
"That must have been helpful."
"I'm sure she thought I had some useful tips to share too," he says. "I should have warned you that there is a tiny wait for these too."
"I know they need to bake, Nate."
"Yes, but they need to rest for five minutes first." He slices the dough into rounds, placing them on a baking sheet.
"I suppose I can manage five minutes."
"I'm glad to hear it." He finishes up and takes the tray out to the ice house, returning with his block of croissant dough. He rolls it out and then folds it in on itself. I've done this part myself, but I still find myself captivated by his every move.
