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quite the boulangère

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As David approached the kitchen in search of his morning coffee, he heard his husband’s voice. “So you can knead it by hand, but mostly I just let the machine do it for me.”

“Oh, so I needn’t worry I might disturb my manicure? If I had known that I might have reacquainted myself with this process years ago!” And that was… his mother? What on earth were they doing?

Patrick laughed. “Well, I’m not sure they had a mixer to use at the motel,” he said, and ah! There was that other noise, one David had got so used to on the mornings they managed to get at home, that he hardly noticed it. The sound of the stand mixer Patrick’s parents had given them as a wedding gift wrestling with a firm dough.

His desire to spy on this interaction won out over his desire for immediate coffee, which was yet another sign that Patrick had turned him soft. Had kneaded him over years, with affection and trust and love, into the sort of person with enough flexibility to choose watching his loved ones interact over his desire for his first caffeine of the day to come as quickly as possible.

David got to an angle where he could see into the kitchen and they probably wouldn’t see him and—oh! There they were, Patrick Brewer and Moira Rose in flour-dusted aprons, baking bread. David’s parents were visiting for the weekend, but he could never have predicted this. David often felt grateful they had hired some extra help on weekends, but getting to sleep in and then wake up to a sight like this made him all the more glad they’d found Erika, and that she was now experienced enough to open the store without them.

“Hey Siri, timer for ten minutes,” Patrick was saying, to which his phone on the counter responded.

Moira laughed and rested a hand on Patrick’s arm. “When I was a girl, baking bread was a rather different experience, let me tell you.”

Patrick shrugged. “I’ve done it fully by hand plenty of times, but this way I have time to clean up while it runs.”

David suppressed a laugh at the look on his mother’s face at the idea of cleaning. “Perhaps I shall leave you to it, Patrick.”

Patrick was obviously holding back his own amusement. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to clean. I do need to get David his coffee, though, if we want him to be ready in time to get to the farmer’s market before all the best stuff sells out.”

David let out an extremely dignified noise that was not a squawk and Patrick turned and saw him. There was no way he couldn’t tell that David had been spying, there’d be no reason for him to be standing quite where he was if not, but Patrick didn’t call him out on it.

“David! Your mom was showing me how to bake bread, apparently she was quite the boulangère in her youth.” Patrick said, his eyes twinkling. He was clearly quoting her and David’s heart squeezed with affection.

“Was she? How fascinating,” David said and it was worth the warning look from his mother to see a grin cross Patrick’s face.

“She was.” Patrick reached to the counter and picked up a mug of coffee, already prepared. “Should I take the way you squawked to mean you don’t want this?”

David humphed. “I do not squawk!” He still couldn’t resist kissing Patrick’s cheek when he got close enough, before taking the coffee.

“Oh, David, it is most un-becoming not to acknowledge one’s faults,” his mother said, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. A few years with Patrick in the family had somehow improved her ability to tease without cruelty.

David flapped his free hand, partially just because he knew it would amuse them, careful to hold his mug steady. “I can see when I’m not wanted,” he said, allowing Patrick another quick kiss before he retreated with his life-giving caffeine.

He could hear Patrick start to explain what they’d do after the timer was complete and he couldn’t help but set down his mug to take a sneaky picture of them to send to Alexis. No way she’d forgive him if he didn’t get evidence of this.