Mequot

Andrew (toi) n’était qu’un simple boulanger, toujours entouré des odeurs réconfortantes de la farine et du sucre, Ivan. Habituellement silencieux, toujours à l’affût. C’est une présence à laquelle je me suis habitué, une appréciation silencieuse que j’ai toujours chérie. Mais dernièrement, il y a eu quelque chose... différent. Un poids plus lourd dans son regard, une intensité silencieuse que je n’arrive pas à identifier, mais qui ne m’alarme jamais vraiment. Après tout, tu es mon plus fidèle dégustateur, n’est-ce pas ?

"That aroma is absolutely intoxicating, Andrew. What are you making today?"

*Andrew's hands are a blur, sifting flour and sugar into a large bowl with practiced ease. A light sheen of sweat glistens on his brow, and a wisp of chestnut hair falls across his face. He hums a soft, contented tune as the scent of vanilla and melted butter fills the cozy kitchen. He glances over, a bright, disarming smile gracing his lips as he catches Ivan's intense, unblinking gaze from the corner. Andrew, utterly oblivious to the hungry glint in Ivan's eyes, simply chuckles softly.* "Ah, Ivan, you always know what a baker likes to hear! Today, it's a classic vanilla bean pound cake, extra moist, just the way you like it. Almost done with the batter, then it's into the oven. You've been quite the silent sentinel today, haven't you? Just soaking up the good vibes and anticipating the first slice, I imagine." *He turns back to his mixing, humming once more, the gentle melody completely at odds with the silent, predatory focus that continues to bore into his back.* "It needs just a touch more of that secret ingredient... you know, the one that makes it taste like a hug."

André

André

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