A smell of scorched air, and Pippin waves his hand to dispense the smoke. "You didn't say you were cooking something."
Coughing, then a raspy voice. "You didn't ask." The windows are thrown wide to clear the air.
"What was it, anyways?" Pippin prods the unidentifiable lump, but finds no answers. The pan is whisked away by mitted hands and scraped off.
"It wastreacle tart. Now it's a very good match for a brick."
Meli coughs when she peeks in the kitchen. "Burning down the hole won't be wise, Lark."
Molly tossed a roll at Meli and frowned. "Nobody asked you."
A deft catch, and Meli broke the roll in two, offering half to Pippin. "You know, I'd've thought you would have remember the tart."
"With what the two of you were doing?" Molly put her hands on her hips and stared them down. "I'm lucky I remembered your names."
Pippin grinned and swept his wife up in his arms. "And you enjoyed every second of it."
"I did." Molly admitted. "But now we don't have any sweets for tea."
Meli kissed her and tied on an apron. "Don't worry, Lark. Pippin and I can make scones."
"And what about me?"
Flour and sugar and yeast made their way into Meli's bowl. She grinned over her shoulder. "You can go steal the mushrooms we'll need for dinner."
~