"That was Fred," George answered cheerfully. Which it in no way had been, but he saw no reason to admit that. "And you know if she hitched her tits at you a bit and batted her lashes you'd be barefoot in the kitchen with an apron anyway."
George could see that Bill was a bit under the weather, but he wasn't the sort to dwell on the darker things or ask sincere questions when he could be an arse and distract from them instead.
"Whatever she cooks, you eat first. Just in case. She probably won't try to poison YOU. Unless you've already started running around on her," he teased.