“You guys can’t go home yet. We haven’t had tea and chats,” Gibsie piped up. “And I have scones baking in the oven.” “You baked scones?” I asked, momentarily distracted. “You?” “Yes, me,” Gibsie shot back, looking slightly wounded. “I’ll have you know that I’m a wonderful baker.” “Sorry,” I quickly replied, not wanting to offend him. “You just don’t strike me as a baker.” “Relax, I’m totally fucking with you,” he laughed. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He pointed to the stove and said, “For all I know, those scones could be killers.” “Killer scones?” I scrunched my nose up at the concept.
...more
