"I might have remembered that if they'd had ever been my sweets."
"She seemed to think it a wifely standard."
"Mm." Startled by the leer, he demands, "What, do you want to see my wardrobe?"
"They were nearly pink."
He folds his arms, nettled. "When were you teaching? If you weren't actually trying to impart information other than 'fear me' at the time, it doesn't count."
"I suppose." He's never been sure whether it was the terror or the bones, with Rus, but when he's planning something is not the time to explore it... "Good," he nods, looking to the dessert now that his disclaimer is thoroughly in place. Evidently the chef, watching them covertly from his counter, has reached a few conclusions about them, because Rus's cake is nearly drowned in syrup and chocolate whipped cream and capped with a small scoop of gelato, and the mascarpone-curd mix on Severus's tart is marbleized lemon-lime, devoid of the usual swirls of butterscotch and raspberry, and topped with orange and strawberry wedges.
Well, that one went without saying... It occurs that Rus is right in Xel's old line of work, although Xel might be too purple for them to get along. ;)