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“You’re baking?”
Benedict rubs a hand over his face as he crosses the hallway, the kitchen ahead glowing warmly against the dimness of the rest of the house. He would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t used to Sophie’s late-night cravings, and the inevitable noise that came with them, as soon as she decided, at two in the morning, that she had to bake cookies, brownies, or some impossibly delicate cake.
He would also be lying if he said he didn’t care.
Because sometimes—all he wants, really—is to sleep through the night. To not be startled awake by his wife who insists on transforming their quiet home into a miniature bakery at the most absurd hours. And yet, even in his half-asleep state, the sight of her working there—her hair slightly loose, a smear of flour on her cheek—makes his chest tighten with something unbearably tender. He loves her. He loves her in a way which
“Yes,” she replies without turning around.
Benedict sighs, leaning against the doorway. “It’s well past midnight.”
“I know.” She shrugs, still stirring the dough with care, the spoon moving almost meditatively. “I just wanted to bake something.”
“Are you nervous?”
Sophie doesn’t answer immediately. Her hands work diligently, smoothing the thick, chocolate-scented batter.
Benedict steps closer, closing the distance without hesitation. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rests his head on her shoulder, letting the warmth of her body seep into his. She giggles softly, shaking her head against him. Benedict inhales, the smell of dark chocolate, sugar, and her faint perfume filling his senses. He nuzzles her neck, letting his lips brush the soft skin just below her ear.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” she whispers gently. “Did I wake you?”
Benedict hums, a low, contented sound.
“Yeah,” he admits, his voice soft, “but it’s alright. Honestly… I’m far more interested in your baking.”
Sophie giggles again. She sounds tired, her eyelids heavy, yet he notices the sparkle in her eyes when they meet his. And in that moment, watching her lean against him, flour-dusted and utterly herself, Benedict feels the deep ache of love again
“Are you?” she teases, but he can hear the smile in her voice.
“I am,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “more than you’ll ever know.”
He thinks she might be worried about one of her students. Sophie had mentioned something about a worrying pupil and a parent-teacher meeting a few days ago, but Benedict had been far too tired to really take it in. That was probably why she had chosen this ridiculous hour to bake, or why she had chosen those particular cookies. She had said once that chocolate chip cookies felt like heaven when you were stressed, especially if accompanied by a cup of strong black coffee.
“Can I help?” he asks, his voice low and raspy, punctuated by a yawn. “I’m not as good as you, but I can manage something if you need an extra pair of hands.”
Sophie chuckles. “You can go back to bed. I just need to finish mixing and moulding, then I’ll pop them in the oven.”
“Can I help?” he asks again, softer this time. Benedict hopes she’ll let him stay close.
“If you’d like,” she shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Benedict hums again, tightening his grip on her waist and drawing her closer. He closes his eyes, inhaling the heady mix of chocolate, sugar, and Sophie herself. He smiles to himself when she shudders against him. It feels right, holding her like this. Even though sleep tugs at him, each blink threatening to drag his eyelids down, even though he’s so tired he could collapse onto the cold kitchen tiles, it feels wonderful. Sophie is so soft and so warm against him, humming quietly as her hands move diligently through the mixture, utterly absorbed, barely noticing him at all.
He begins to press gentle kisses along her neck, tracing from the base to her jawline. Sophie giggles when he brushes the skin just beneath her earlobe, and Benedict can’t help but laugh along, their bodies swaying together, light and easy. One of her hands leaves the counter and drifts to his hair, fingers threading through it as they move together to the rhythm of her humming.
“I think you might have flour on your face,” Benedict murmurs, licking his lips.
Sophie nods, chuckling softly. “I might, yeah. The whole bag kind of exploded when I opened it earlier.”
She turns around, giving Benedict a proper look, eyes closed and a cheeky smile tugging at her lips. She giggles, and he allows himself a soft chuckle in return, shaking his head at her. She’s adorable, and he can’t manage to think of anything else.
He wants to scream. He wants to grab her face and kiss her over and over again, just because he can. Because Sophie is his, and he’s allowed to. He’s allowed to hold her, touch her, feel her hum against him, hear her calling his name in every possible way—and the thought alone makes his heart twist inside his chest in that familiar, thrilling way. His stomach churns with excitement, a delicious, almost dizzying mix of warmth and something cool, as though the world itself has shrunk to just the two of them in that kitchen, late at night, surrounded by chocolate, sugar, and Sophie.
“Am I pretty with flour on my face?” she asks, tilting her head just enough for Benedict to see the rosy flush on her cheeks, dusted with white powder. “Or do I just look… stupid?”
“You look beautiful, but a little silly,” Benedict says without hesitation, his voice warm and certain.
“You were supposed to say I always look beautiful, Benedict,” she rolls her eyes sarcastically, turning back to the cookie dough on the counter.
“Didn’t I just do that, though?” he murmurs, resting his head against her shoulder.
Sophie snorts, shaking her head. She rolls up her sleeves and begins shaping the cookies, placing them neatly on their well-worn baking tray. Benedict hums softly, remembering the first time he discovered that baking was Sophie’s remedy for stress—waking in the middle of the night to the clatter of pots and pans, followed by a string of curses because she couldn’t find the bloody baking tray. He had learned his lesson quickly; now Sophie had an entire cupboard devoted to her baking utensils, and Benedict never even dared to touch it.
His mouth waters, and he licks his lips instinctively, nuzzling the side of Sophie’s neck. She growls, laughing, telling him she’ll be done faster if he stops distracting her. Easier said than done, he thinks. There’s simply no way he can resist his wife.
They had spent far too long restraining themselves, and now that he has Sophie Bridgerton all to himself, he intends to savour it. He doesn’t speak, only presses another kiss to her neck, eliciting a delighted shriek and a sticky slap to his arms, which are still wrapped securely around her waist.
“Stop distracting me,” she complains. “This is harassment. You’re impossible!”
“I’m an artist,” Benedict teases, pressing a light kiss to the side of her neck. “It’s literally my job to look at beautiful things… and you, my love, are a masterpiece.”
“Benedict, I swear to God…” she shakes her head, rolling her eyes, but her lips twitch in a smile as she returns her focus to the dough.
“Alright,” he says, kissing her neck again. “I’ll stop. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you,” she sighs. “You have no self-control.”
“Not when it comes to you, I don’t,” he murmurs, another kiss, warm and teasing. “We’ve spent far too long without touching like this, and I’m trying to make up for it.”
“Excuse me?” Sophie quips without looking up. “We went to bed together just a few hours ago, Ben. And I think I already got my fair share.”
He chuckles, nuzzling her neck, utterly delighted. “Ah, yes. But one can never truly get enough of you.”
“And you, apparently, are insatiable,” she mutters.
“And you’re being mean; running away in the middle of the night to bake cookies you won’t even eat later on,” he teases, pressing another kiss to the back of her neck.
Sophie chuckles softly. “Now I’m starting to feel guilty.”
“Hmm,” he hums against the sensitive skin beneath her ear, “I might forgive you… if you let me kiss you.” She shivers and slaps him lightly in protest.
“Or,” he continues, voice softening, “if you tell me what’s been bothering you lately. I can tell you’ve been worried. Is it about work?”
Sophie hesitates, her hands pausing mid-motion. “Yeah… just some problems with this little boy. He’s been acting differently lately, and…” She swallows hard, her voice dropping. “…I can’t help but worry it’s because he’s being hurt, like… like what happened to me. I know it’s probably nothing, but I… I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Benedict stiffens, immediately alert. His chest tightens, his arms instinctively drawing her closer. Her fear, her memory, the way she flinches at even the thought of someone harming a child—it all hits him. “Hey,” he says gently, “you know you don't have to carry this alone. Whatever’s happening, we’ll face it together. I’ll make sure he’s safe, and I’ll make sure you feel safe too. Always.”
Sophie exhales, leaning into him. “I know… I just… I needed to do something else, to feel like I could control something. But I’ll be okay. I just needed a little distraction.”
“I could distract you,” Benedict sighs, arms tightening around her waist, his voice low and suggestive. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Not that kind of distraction, Ben,” she giggles, swatting his shoulder playfully.
“You sure?”
“Positive,” she laughs again, shaking her head. “But good to know I have permission to wake you up whenever I feel like it.”
“I didn’t say that!” he protests, though his grin gives him away.
Sophie laughs, turning to look Benedict in the eye. She winks at him, a cheeky smile tugging at her lips. Benedict blinks down at her, mimicking the grin perfectly. She pecks his lips before turning back to the tray, trying to take a step away from the counter only to realise Benedict is still very much glued to her back, thank you very much.
She laughs loudly, shaking her head, looking at him over her shoulder, eyebrows arched, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
“Can you, like, let go of me for five seconds?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
Benedict pretends to think it over. “Yeah… can’t do that, no.”
“So I’m supposed to drag you along while holding the cookies?”
“That’s the plan, yeah,” he chuckles.
“You’re worse than my students, Benedict,” she sighs, shaking her head. “I promise I’ll give you a kiss if you let me take the five steps I need to put these in the oven. Then I’ll be at yours for, like, thirty minutes. Sounds like a deal?”
He doesn’t even need a moment to think.
Sophie giggles as Benedict unwraps his arms from around her waist, raising his hands swiftly in mock surrender. He smiles at her, winking, and she rolls her eyes playfully as she slides the baking tray into the oven.
Leaning against the counter, Benedict watches her carefully—from the way her hair tries to escape her loose ponytail, to the way her body moves when she bends to place the tray just so inside the hot oven. He notices the lazy blink as she closes the oven, the soft parting of her lips after a yawn, the scratch at her neck, the tiny tears pooling in her eyes, and he gently wipes them away with his thumb.
And fuck, Benedict thinks, he doesn’t even mind being awake this late for chocolate chip cookies—of all the things Sophie could have chosen to bake—because he is completely, hopelessly, utterly in love. Being awake this late for chocolate chip cookies is worth it, because Sophie is here—his Sophie—sharing his bed, sharing his life, and he knows deep in his soul that he is hers entirely. His heart twists in that familiar, helpless way he’s long stopped fighting.
“What are you looking at?” She yawns.
“You,” Benedict says, completely serious, smiling like he could burst. “You’re beautiful. Did you know that? I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever met. I love you, Sophie.”
“I know you mean it… but you really don’t have to say it that much—my heart can’t handle it,” she says with a small, amused smile.
He chuckles, reaching out to touch her face. Sophie nuzzles his hand, smiling softly, eyes closing. Benedict feels his heart skip a beat, and for a moment, he imagines himself a mere mortal standing before an ancient goddess—utterly unworthy, completely undone by her. Pulling her closer, he wraps his arms around her once more, breathing her in.
She smells like chocolate and sugar and Sophie, and suddenly, it feels like the best combination in the world. Warm and soft against him, and, if he’s being honest, she makes him want to scream. Sophie is way too much for him with her adorable face, her radiant smile, her hair, her voice… fuck. She’s everything he’s ever wished for, and more.
“Your thoughts are too loud, Benedict,” Sophie comments, looking up at him.
He grins, full of awe and adoration, but gentle enough not to overwhelm her.
“You weren’t thinking loud,” she explains. “But you’re holding me so tight it’s hard to breathe. It’s not hard to figure out what you’re thinking, you know?”
“And what am I thinking of, then?”
Now it’s Sophie’s turn to blush. “Not saying.”
Benedict laughs, holding her a little tighter until she yelps, squirming in protest. He pouts, their foreheads pressed together, and within seconds they’re both laughing in the middle of the kitchen, holding on to each other tightly and it's like it’s their own personal paradise. No work, no worries—just the two of them and the warm, sweet smell of cookies slowly filling the room.
Sophie sighs, resting her head on his shoulder, fingers tracing up his neck, leaving soft kisses in her wake—and oh God, is it hard to breathe.
When she kisses his cheek, dangerously close to his lips, Benedict whines, the sound alone making Sophie giggle and shake her head. She smiles at him, tilting her head, and Benedict swears he’s going to die if he doesn’t get a proper kiss in the next five seconds.
He doesn’t die.
Sophie pecks his lips, dipping her fingers into his hair, holding it a little too tightly, but Benedict doesn’t have it in him to care care, because fuck, she tastes like bitter chocolate and sugar, and if it isn’t the best thing he’s ever tasted…
When people fall in love, he thinks, they burst into flames. That’s the only explanation for the way his blood boils, for the way his lungs feel like they’re on fire. He’s kissing the most beautiful woman in the entire world, and it’s almost unbearable—burning him in the best way possible. Sophie hums, parting her lips slightly, and Benedict is one hundred percent certain he died somewhere along the way, and this… this is the afterlife.
He doesn’t know how long they keep going, but by the time Sophie breaks away, Benedict’s lungs are about to burst, and he probably has a few bald spots now. He could not care less. Her lips are red and puffy, and damn him if he doesn’t want to kiss her again.
He doesn’t, though, because suddenly, the oven dings, and Sophie unwraps herself from his arms, trotting happily toward it, the smile on her face making him want to follow her immediately.
“Once again being neglected because of chocolate chip cookies,” he sighs.
Sophie giggles, shushing him. “It’s not like you won’t eat them too…”
“I’d rather eat you, though…”
She doesn’t answer, but Benedict notices her cheeks flushing deeper and deeper. He grins to himself, walking slowly toward her, eyes flicking to the tray with sparkling mischief. They do smell incredible, he thinks, and maybe he’ll have one or two before they head back to bed.
And then… her.