That wine is nowhere strong enough for what she wants, and it certainly won't do anything if Kate were to, oh, say, grab it and drown in one gulp, but God help her, she's tempted. Instead, she stands her ground, arms crossed and eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

Dimly, she's aware of the care he's using to make sure the flour doesn't touch the flour. Dimly.

"A rest," she repeats, flatly. She just manages to bite back a rather childish, I don't want to rest. Instead, her eyes move from dumplings to the pots, trying to take in everything he's doing.