Adhemar sees to the fire pragmatically; a precise gesture with one hand and a sapping of energy from the air, and the intensity of the flames lessen just enough that neither he nor the wine will be burned when he hangs the kettle over it. In short order the aromatic spices from the kettle waft upwards, pleasantly warm and familiar.

"...I will worry too much if you leave before day."

Abruptly he looks back at her, at the stubborn set of her jaw and her eyes as they follow him around her home. For a moment that's all he does, look back at her with an expression as inscrutable as hers is determined; he's not startled, precisely, but caught off-guard, and instinct keeps him unreadable when some part of him knows, truthfully, that he should not respond this way. Not to her, not anymore.

A pause as he gathers his thoughts. Then, "I never intended to worry you." It's approaching an apology, but not quite there yet; more out of ignorance that one might be required than a stubborn refusal to provide one.