in the kitchen, cooking; open reception
"Earlier to cook, or earlier for more time alone?" He didn't think that Emma was in any real rush to get dinner on the table. That meant they'd have to all sit down as one big family reception--something he wasn't at all familiar with, but could definitely figure out--but he knew that a few of them would have to ease into that setting. Herself included.
Not to mention she didn't seem at all uncomfortable with how things were moving just then. Just a guess.
"A salad or something? Hmmm. That sounds nutritional." His eyes deviated from the stove a moment to shift as he teased, leaning into the slight embrace that was convenient enough to let him both cook and keep her close. It was surprisingly easy to fall into a comfortable exchange of affections, something that Jefferson wouldn't complain about.
In most ways it was just as new to him as it was for her. He was even sure in some instances she had more experience with relationships than he had. Which was fine, he was content to be himself and just enjoy what they had as it came about. He hadn't been able to enjoy much of anything in a very, very long time. While he could never be truly happy or at peace without his daughter he didn't have to be alone and miserable. Emma and the rest of her entourage, people he was slowly accepting as his own companions, saw to that. Mostly Emma made him feel something other than dread and guilt, or any of the other wretched things he'd been buried under for so long. That was worth all of his attention.
Setting the burner to high so that the pot he'd set aside could boil for the noodles, he let his free hand rest over the one she'd wrapped around his waist, threading their fingers. "You may have to start learning quickly. It looks as though it's a prerequisite to your family."