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Almost half the class passes before Sokka finds something to say to his partner.
“So…” he whispers, not wanting to distract from the instructor at the front of the room demonstrating how to knead the dough, “…you like to cook…?”
It’s not his most brilliant attempt at making conversation. Unfortunately, he left his copy of ”How to Flirt With Dark and Mysterious But Strikingly Pretty Girls Who You Met in an Ember Island Cooking Class” at home.
(If the resort has it available in the gift shop, he’d gladly pay the markup, because he doesn’t like his chances at the moment.)
Her hands, dusted in flour, stop. She doesn’t look at him, but her expression is no less unapproachable and unimpressed than when they were first partnered together twenty minutes ago.
“No.”
She goes back to kneading.
Sokka swallows, unable to resist the question prickling at the back of his throat.
“You signed up for a cooking class—on Ember Island, where there are a million other things to do—but you don’t like cooking?”
“No.”
He looks back down at their work table, cluttered with ingredients and utensils. Suddenly feeling idle and useless and disinterested, he just shrugs.
“Huh. I guess I don’t either.”
Her hands stop again.
She sighs.
“And yet, here you are. At a cooking class. On Ember Island. Where, I’m told, there are a million other things to do.”
The kneading continues.
Flustered, Sokka debates between possible responses: a simple ‘touché’ and giving up on the conversation altogether; hitting her with a classic ‘I asked you first!’; or trying to explain that he wasn’t agreeing with her just to seem amicable.
He decides to push his luck.
“Well, cooking is work. Some recipes are fun, but most of the time, I do it so I can eat. That’s my real passion. I love eating.”
“Eating,” she drawls. “You love eating?”
“Yeah! I consider it a worthwhile pastime. Maybe my favorite hobby! There are very few things I’d rather be doing at any given moment than eating.”
“You sound like a hedonist.”
“I don’t philosophize about how much I love to eat—I just do it, you know? Enjoy the simple things in life and all that. Life isn’t only about eating, obviously, but it’s a major perk.”
She stops kneading.
She looks up at him.
Sokka isn’t sure what ”How to Flirt With Dark and Mysterious But Strikingly Pretty Girls Who You Met in an Ember Island Cooking Class” would advise when it comes to extended eye contact, but he’s too focused on the sharp, elegant features staring right at him for the first time to really think straight.
“You take over.”
She steps to the side and dusts the flour off her hands with a paper towel.
”Oh, right—sure!”
Without hesitation, Sokka sinks his palms into the cool dough and tries his best to imitate her rhythmic, graceful kneading.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can feel himself being watched. It’s only fair, because he was watching her before—watching and admiring. He considers that maybe, maybe, she’s doing a little of the same.
(Unwilling to pass up the golden opportunity presented by his sleeveless beach shirt, Sokka flexes his arms as if he’s kneading industrial-grade rubber.)
“I flew here with my family.” It’s the first time she’s said something that hasn’t been a direct response to him, and somehow, it lifts the coarseness from her voice. “My parents have a place on the island. My dad uses it to host events for business or politics or whatever, so I make myself scarce. This class wasn’t my first choice, but…”
Sokka stops kneading.
He glances over and finds his partner not only looking at him, but smiling—a subtle, earnest smile.
“…I really like eating, too.”
🥢 🥢 🥢
Chasing the dribble of appleberry filling down the side of his wrist, Sokka officially finishes off his half of the fruit tart pan.
“That was fantastic. Good food is always worth the work.”
His cooking class partner—Mai, a girl after his own stomach—hums contentedly beside him, her shoulder grazing his as she leans over to pluck a crumb out of the pan.
Sokka is feeling pretty content himself, sitting on the beach under an umbrella, listening to the waves slap against the sand—not to mention the food and the company.
The last of those, he’s not ready to part with so soon.
“So…are you…um…busy later?” His fingers absently flick the ties of his swim shorts. “Heading back to your parents’ place…or would you want to…I don’t know…go do an activity?”
He peers back up in time to catch another one of her demure smiles.
“If you’re referring to that dive we passed on the walk here advertising an all-you-can-eat seafood special,” Mai says as she stands, brushing off her long skirt, “then yes, I’ll be busy—for a few hours, at least. Unless you have something else in mind?”
Sokka grabs the tart pan and jumps to his feet, consciously suppressing the urge to whoop in excitement.
“Great stomachs think alike!” They turn for the road, walking closely enough that he finds the courage to add, “You know…I think I saw a sign for a couple’s discount, too…”
“Interesting.” She pauses while she pulls her shawl back on and slips her sunglasses onto her nose. “Sounds like we’ll be getting our money’s worth.”