A platter of meatballs. Another of apple fritters. The vanilla glaze had taken him hours to get right and he was still concerned it had been too sweet, even though the Pevensie girl seemed to enjoy it.
"No," Eadwulf lied. "Maybe next time." Next time he would definitely not be bringing meatballs. Not if there was a risk Mark Bennett would. He glared at the sidewalk. "You should go in. Your pack is here."