Sigyn blinked, then looked at Bragi as though he'd grown two heads. Had he just offered to let her spy on Idun when he confronted his wife about an affair he didn't believe truly existed? After having gone to all the trouble of telling her the slug story. Not to mention that it was shockingly forward to be involved in a conversation that intimate between spouses. He must be joking. Actually, now that she thought about it, he really must be joking. It couldn't possibly be anything else, and he'd already proven to have a rather quirky sense of humor.
So Sigyn gave him a smile and passed him the oatcake she'd offered. Later, she was going to tell Loki all about how wonderful they were, how warm and buttery with just enough sweetness in the cakes to offset the tartness of the cloudberries, all complimented with a sweet honey glaze on top that she'd thought of on her own. Nobody else did a honey glaze. Nobody else would trop through a bog for some stupid berries. Sigyn was going to tell Loki how much Bragi gushed about the oatcakes because he'd just loved them that much.
Even if Bragi did no such thing.
“I'm good with whatever is easiest for you,” she told the god that had suddenly become her host. “And no, I don't mind books at all, I love to read in face, but perhaps you'd rather I didn't invade your home. Especially since I came uninvited, to say the least. But something to drink would be very nice, thank you, and I bet the apple wine would pair perfectly, thank you.”
Something off to her right glinted in the sunlight, and she abruptly exclaimed, “Oh! Is that your flute?”