Cassandra spotted Alfred in the sitting room, sitting in a chair and enjoying a spot of tea. She tilted her head to the side and studied him for a moment. He, of course, asked if anything was the matter, but she continued to squint at him. Something weird was going on.
There. Alfred's attention seemed divided between this room and the kitchen. And there was a certain warmth hanging in the air, the kind that happened when he was pre-heating the oven in preparation for a day of baking. But his body language said he was the one baking. He was supervising from afar.
Alfred shifted in his seat, almost imperceptibly. "I believe you are aware that staring is impolite, young Miss. If you have a question to ask, by all means--"
Then she heard Damian's voice shout from the kitchen, asking about batter.
...
...
...What?
Cassandra sprinted to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was the incomprehensible sight of Damian standing in front of the oven, clearly frustrated by the assignment.
She reviewed what Alfred had just said about staring. It was impolite-which-meant-rude. So was laughing.
Cass couldn't help it. She doubled over and started giggling, leaning against the doorframe for support.