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I scowled. There was another thing I hated about his damn mark. I hated how it showed him my emotions and coerced him to respond to them. It was just another illusion that he cared about me, though how could he really care?
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, lowering my attention to the mixed bowl of dough and remembering his question. “Kneading builds up the strength of the dough so it can capture more air pockets inside it, which helps the bread’s texture so that it ends up even lighter and fluffier in the end. But making stick bread a little denser will keep it from falling apart quite so easily when selling it at the market. So, at this point, we’d just wait for the bread to rise about double in size. Except…”
I pulled a pouch of powder from my cloak that sped the time-growth process along. The mage I bought it from sold it to women who wanted to immediately lengthen their hair. But it worked for this too.
“We don’t have the time for that, ergo, poof…” I released a few sprinkles and the dough immediately expanded in the bowl.
Indigo leaned closer to watch. “Cool,” he murmured.
Still drawn to his fascination, I bit my lip to hold in a smile, and I shook my head again. Gathering the dough from the bowl, I explained, “Now we divide this into about eight parts
.”
When I pinched it into two equal balls, Indigo held out a hand, offering, “I’ll take half.”
There was no reason to deny him, so I handed over one of the halves, and we each turned them into four more each before stretching them into sausage-shaped strips.
Picking up one of the cooking sticks I had fashioned from a maple tree, I handed it to him before getting my own, and we each spent a minute holding our sticks over the fire to sterilize them. Then I showed him how to pinch one end of the sausage dough to the sharpened tip of his spit and coil it down and around the stick.
“Find some hot embers,” I told him. “They’re the best to cook over.”
He followed my advice without question and rotated his bread every time I did mine so it would cook evenly.
“How long do they take to cook?”
“Whenever it’s a nice golden brown,” I answered. “Maybe about ten minutes or so.”
And so we waited until our bread was finished. As I slid my loaf from the pike that I’d cooked it on and set it aside, Indigo tore a chunk of his straight from his stick and popped it into his mouth.
My eyes widened. “Careful! That might be—”
“Hot!” He hissed, his eyes immediately watering and cheeks bulging. “Damn, that’s hot.”
I burst out laughing as he tried to deal with the temperature without spitting the bread out.
“Here.” Having mercy, I handed him a ladle full of water, which he gratefully accepted.
Mouth still stuffed full, he muffled out his thanks and drank eagerly.
I started to chuckle just as a voice from behind us said, “Well, isn’t this cozy.”
Jumping, I spun around to realize Melaina had returned. She had paused, poised at the edge of the camp, watching us curiously. Eyebrows perking up as her gaze met mine, she smirked as if she’d interrupted us mid-sex or something.
“Quilla’s teaching me how to make bread,” Indigo answered easily, finally having swallowed down his first bite. “It’s amazing.”
As he turned back to twist another strip around the stick, Melaina blinked at me. “You’re cooking? Together? How utterly domestic.”
“Fuck you,” I mouthed to her.
She smirked and blew me a kiss.
“Want me to cook you a loaf?” Indigo asked Melaina, completely missing the byplay.
Brightening, she nodded. “Hell yes. Serve me, pretty boy. I’m famished.” She plopped herself languidly onto my bedroll and gave a long, satisfied groan as she stretched. “Lordy, that dip in the hot springs was nice, though. I had to finger myself to orgasm twice before leaving the water.”
Indigo choked on air and quickly cleared his throat, moving past her inappropriateness. “So whatever happened to the gingerbread man?” he asked, turning pointedly to me. “Did he ever get caught?”
“Gingerbread man?” Melaina lifted her head from the bedding. “Telling the High Clifter children’s stories now, are you?” She pointed at Indigo. “And, no. No one could ever catch the gingerbread man. He was too fast.”
