“Velma made pancakes and some French thing.” “Quiche,” Velma corrected. Speaking of… Velma checked the quiche and tugged on two kitchen mitts in the same pattern as her paisley apron. “If you call it baked eggs, he’ll eat it.” Pam made herself comfortable on a barstool across the counter. “I made baked eggs.” Velma held up the pie plate and beamed at Brek.
