(He will not figure out what to do with them because she is keeping them all. Look at all the tiny meat and cheeses and little chocolates. She is not giving these up unless he fights her.)

She lets him lead her to the table, shoving the pile of baskets underneath to keep them safe and hidden, but she doesn't sit down, too idly restless to settle into the chair. Instead she drags a hand through her hair before she folds her arms across her chest.

"What is your job? Easy-Bake Oven cupcake maker?" That was slightly more judgy than intended and her mouth slants down in a slight frown but she doesn't apologize because she has the emotional range of a turnip.