Cosima closes her book and walks to the kitchen, no longer able to ignore her curiosity, lured by the faint scent of coconut and vainilla. Ever since they babysat Gemma and Oscar and Cupcake Wars came on TV, Delphine hasn’t stopped baking, which was great, but she made her promise she’d never be so domestic as to wear an apron - Can you imagine being that Alison? -, and now the sight of her nearly sends Cosima to her knees.
Hips swaying to a song only she could hear, she's wearing nothing but an old shirt that barely covers her black knickers. Cosima’s heart slams erratically in her chest as her gaze flicks up and down, raking over her. The golden light that filters through the window loves the sculpted planes of her cheekbones, the moles and freckles of her arms, the pale skin of her bare legs.
Cosima’s feet seem to be glued to the floor, her world narrowed to the woman standing before her. She studies her intently, wishing she had the ability to record this very moment and play it over and over again anytime she wants. Just like the dust particles in the sunlight, Delphine dances gracefully, careful not to move too much as she tidies up the edges of the smooth pale frosting of a cupcake with a paper towel. Cosima doesn’t wish to disturb her, but the lock of hair that scaped her messy updo and rests against her neck is way too alluring to keep ignoring. She pads into the kitchen and kisses the sun-warmed skin there.
“I didn’t know I was dating Chloe Coscarelli,” she whispers before retreating to slouch against the counter.
The hint of a smile appears on Delphine’s lips, but she doesn’t look at her. Her eyebrows furrow.
“Far from it.” Cosima follows Delphine’s gaze to the two cupcakes in front of her. The answer to her question comes before she can voice it: “They’re supposed to be dogs.”
Cosima has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “It looks like they were born in Chernobyl, babe.”
“Hey, these were only my first attempt, and the cakes weren’t cool enough. They melted a little.”
Cosima opens her mouth to speak but thinks better of it when Delphine arches right eyebrow, daring her to say something. Delphine moves past her, barefoot on the black-and-white tiles, and hands her a steamy mug of winterberry tea.
“Thank you.” She takes a sip and mentally confirms that, indeed, tea tastes better when Delphine makes it. “Does that mean there will be more?”
“There are. I enjoy the process of baking more than the final product itself.”
Cosima smiles at that. So Dr. Cormier. She’s about to respond when Delphine opens the fridge and bends over, her shirt lifting slightly to reveal the soft skin where thigh meets ass. She thinks for a second that she might need her canula again.
“And I enjoy the sight of you baking,” she says and Delphine laughs. "Can I have a taste, though?,” she’s not sure if she’s talking about the cupcakes or Delphine, but decides that either is just fine.
“Yes, let me just --” She places a plate with four more cupcakes on the counter and cringes when she steps back to scrutinize the results.
Cosima grabs one and examines it carefully. “I think the temperature had nothing to do with the deformed puppies.”