#normon

Erik greeted her in the doorway wearing a purple apron with the words 'Obey and kiss the cook' embroidered onto it alongside some skulls and flowers. The invitation was far too good to pass up, so Cecilé pulled him down for a quick kiss before he could even invite her inside. “Oh wow, hello to you too,” Erik mumbled, trying to keep his blush under control while he ushered her inside. “It smells delicious,” Cecilé flashed him a smile as he hung up her jacket for her. “If they taste anything near as good as they smell you might be in the wrong profession.” “Lesson number 5 you learn as a parent: cookies are great bribery,” Erik chuckled. “I'll keep that in mind.” Cecilé laughed and dusted some flour off his apron. “Cécile!” Halldór cried in excitement and ran right into her legs, hugging her tightly. “What a welcome committee!” Cécile laughed as she lifted Halldór up, lamenting the flour and dough stains he added to her clothes for just a brief moment. Halldór was sporting a matching purple apron, with the words 'I make the rules' and with what Cécile gathered had to be trolls embroidered onto his. “Dad's tying to put raisins in all the cookies, you have to stop him!” Halldór said worriedly. “Raisins?” Cécile turned and gave Erik a look of disgust. “That is a culinary no-no,” “You're siding with him?” Erik frowned. “I'm siding with good taste, something you clearly don't have,” Cécile stuck her tongue out at him. “Does that include my taste in women?” Erik raised an eyebrow and Cécile gaped. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “You are awful,” she added – cheeks red – she'd walked right into that one. “I can't tell who's supposed to be more offended about that. Natalia or me...” she muttered. “I'll give here a call and ask her later,” Erik laughed and leant in to kiss her cheek. “You don't deserve kisses!” Halldór huffed and pushed Erik's face away from Cécile before he could get too close. “Keep that up or you're getting nothing but raisin cookies for a month,” Erik warned. “That is an awful punishment Erik,” Cécile laughed. “You can't do that to your own son!” “Fine. A week,” Erik grumbled and crossed his arms. “He's being mean!” Halldór whimpered and Cécile could see Halldór was just as much in on the joke as Erik was. Father and son were frighteningly similar at times. “Yes he is,” she agreed and patted Halldór's head affectionately. “I'll punish him accordingly later,” she reassured him, winking at Erik when Halldór didn't see. “With chains?” Halldór asked gravely. “Yes,” Cécile replied, trying to ignore the fact that Erik was now grinning like a fool at her. “Right okay, fine,” Erik sighed. “Chocolate chip cookies it is...” “Yay!” Halldór threw his hands in the air and giggled. “Democracy wins once more,” Cécile smiled. “That was nothing short of bribery,” Erik retorted coolly. “Shush you,” Cécile waved him off after setting Halldór down on the floor and watching the little boy run straight for the kitchen. “We saved you from a bad decision,” “But I like raisins in cookies...” Erik mumbled. “Then we make a small batch of nasty cookies for you, and Halldór and I will eat the tasty ones, perfect plan or what?” “Sure,” Erik snorted. “Excellent,” Cécile hummed and headed for the kitchen, trying not to laugh at the mess of flour and dough that met her. Poor Erik. His nice and pristine kitchen would not recover from this for a good week. “You'd think his pale hair was white enough,” Erik sighed. “But no, he has to go and shower himself and the kitchen in flour,” “He looks like a little snow child,” Cécile giggled. “That's not necessarily a step up from his usual troll-child self,” Erik frowned. “He's going to be dragging flour all around the house at this rate,” “I'll help you contain and clean it up,” Cécile reassured him. “Oh, that reminds me,” Erik lowered his voice. “Uh, about that family dinner invitation...” “Hm?” “You don't have to attend if you don't want to...” Erik said. “Don't you want me there?” “What? No! I mean...” Erik bit his lip. “It's just.. my brothers can be a bit, intense,” he sighed. “You're talking to the woman with French and Italian family members,” Cécile laughed. “Did your brother get you lost in the woods or take bets on who could break the most bones in one year?” Erik looked at her questionably. “Uh...” Cécile paused. “No... Francis mostly used me as a doll to dress up...” “Well, Preben and Björn still have the bet going,” Erik frowned. “Who's in the lead?” Cécile asked and smiled. “Preben actually,” Erik replied and rolled his eyes. “Fell of his bike in January and broke his collar bone, left arm and five ribs, so he's now two fractures over Björn's total tally.” “They sound delightful,” Cécile laughed softly. “So don't worry,” she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I promise not to run away,” “But if they make you uncomfortable in any way, you tell me and I'll give them both more fractures to add to their list,” “My hero,” Cécile smiled brightly. “But honestly, I'm looking forward to meeting them. But I might in retaliation drag you along to a family dinner with my side,” “Do I have to wear a suit?” “Yes,” “Urgh. Fair enough,” Erik sighed. “Just because you work from home doesn't mean you should always walk around in jeans and woolly jumpers,” Cécile stifled a laugh and tugged at his apron. “Although you should wear this more often. You suit it,” “With more or less clothes underneath?” Erik asked coyly. “Once your son goes to bed...well, then I think you should wear only the apron,” Cécile smirked. “Remind me to lock the bedroom door then,” Erik whispered in return. Cécile tried to stop her ever-growing smile, but failed when Halldór tugged at her skirt and begged her to help him find the chocolate chips. “We're trying to be healthy,” Erik muttered, but his words fell on deaf ears. “Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate cookies for us all,” Halldór and Cécile singsonged and grinned at him. “You are both getting nothing but salad for the next week!” Erik grumbled and crossed his arms, trying to glare but looking anything but frightening in his apron. “Little dancers need chocolate to live,” Cécile winked at him as she helped Halldór pour a bag of chocolate chips into the cookie batter. “Well if that's the case then tired fathers need coffee,” Erik grumbled. “Excellent idea,” Cécile smiled. “Visiting girlfriends won't mind some either,” “Yeah, yeah,” Erik waved lazily. “I'll get to it,” “You've got him well trained,” Cécile whispered to Halldór – just loud enough for Erik to hear. “Who? Mt. Puffin?” Halldór looked at her questioningly as he pointed to his stuffed toy that was covered in flour. “Mhm. Him too,” Cécile giggled. “Mr. Puffin made it snow,” Halldór explained. “Did he now?” Cécile glanced at Erik, who muttered something about kids and flour bags being a bad combination. “Yes. Like this,” Halldór grabbed a handful of flour and tossed in the air before Cécile could stop him – giggling as it rained down over them both. Cécile frowned, glad she wasn't wearing anything dry-clean only as Halldór proceeded to do it again. She should know better, but thanked Erik as he handed her a spare apron. “Death before Decaf?” Cécile read the text and glanced at Erik. “Gift from my brothers, before Natalia made us these ones,” Erik smiled and pointed to the purple aprons he and Halldór were wearing. “How fitting...” Cécile snickered and tied it around her waist, knowing it wouldn't be long until Halldór found another way to cover her clothes in flour. By the time the cookies were in the oven and Erik had made them coffee, both her and Erik sported hair almost as white as Halldór's. The whole kitchen appeared to have had a snow storm rush through it, and while Erik tried to sweep and hoover it all up, Cécile got tasked with trying to contain Halldór's flour-covered body within the kitchen. “Ah, ah, ah!” she tutted at Halldór when he tried run past her. “You're going nowhere but the bathtub looking like that,” “I need to hoover him too,” Erik laughed and watched at Halldór's struggling just covered Cécile in more flour, the apron to real use to her any more. “Hoover us all,” Cécile scoffed and tried to shake some of it off her long braid. “I can barely see anything! My glasses are covered too!” “Stand still,” Erik commanded and brushed them both over, pausing to wipe Cécile's glasses very carefully for her before placing them back on her face – smiling fondly at her. “Thank you,” Cécile sighed. “Snow!” Halldór laughed happily. “It's off to the bath with you,” Erik laughed once he'd gotten most of the flour off himself as well. “You need to be hosed down a little.” “Cécile is going to bathe too?” Halldór asked and smiled hopefully. “No,” Cécile shook her head and hoped neither of them noticed her blushing. “Cécile can shower once you're all done hogging the bathtub,” Erik explained. “But you bathe with me... why not Cécile?” Halldór pouted. “Because, uh,” Erik cleared his throat. “Cécile isn't very fond of...” he trailed of and glanced at Cécile for help. “I'm not too fond of sharing baths,” Cécile lied. “But if I don't bring any toys in the bath?” Halldór asked and looked a little upset. “Then your rubber duck and boats will be very sad,” Erik replied. “Oh... Okay,” Halldór sighed dramatically. “Can you sing me a good night song then?” he asked Cécile. “Yes, of course,” Cécile smiled and kissed his forehead. Halldór smiled brightly at that, and didn't fuss about having to be scrubbed clean of flour and cookie dough at all. There was no need to dress nicely around a child, because no matter what she wore Halldór would find a way to ruin it. First with food and then with water. He eagerly wanted to show her his collection of toy boats, and halfway through an elaborate story about how the miniature race-boat and cruise-ship were actually a modern Viking ship Halldór demonstrated the 'Viking' ships immense 'powers' by throwing them into the air – giggling as it splashed the both of them as the toys hit the water. “You knew this would happen,” Cécile shot Erik a nasty look – but Erik just laughed, standing safely in the doorway as Halldór proceeded to splash more water over Cécile. Erik had to help her dry Halldór – because he kept trying to slip away and run naked down the hallway. “Troll-children don't get cookies,” Erik warned, and Cécile could only laugh at how quickly Halldór turned and let himself be both dried and changed into pyjamas. Three cookies and a glass of milk after the bath was all the bribery he needed before he almost skipped off to bed with Cécile in tow. “What lullaby would you like?” she asked him. “Any!” Halldór giggled and wriggled happily under the covers. Cécile hummed thoughtfully for a moment before settling for one her own mother had sung to her – hoping Halldór didn't mind being sung to in French. To her delight he appeared to love it – if falling asleep with a smile on his face counted as love. Cécile decided to interpret it as such anyway. A happy Halldór was a good Halldór after all. ___________ [Ch 8]