King John

"Ah, the lofty master provides for his humble servant!"

The look Addam awarded Minoth for his almost lecherous comment was certainly not food safe, and even if it was, it surely wouldn't taste good.

"Who says it's for you, anyway?"

"Just a hunch." Once he'd crossed over to the far side of the island, Minoth pointedly walked right past Addam to the cabinet behind the stand mixer, tossing slanted eyebrows and winking eyes toward the bowl exactly once.

"You're making tea?"

"Does that offend you in some personal manner?"

Addam frowned into his ribbons of wet and dry ingredients yet to be folded, incorporated, so on and so forth. Why a disagreement this tetchy over a matter this petty? Out of the corner of his own eye, he could see Minoth hanging lightly on the handles that opened the cabinet door wide, suspended in motion by the prospect of needing to defend himself from a flying spatula, or some such.

"You should make coffee."

"Tea for two?"

"It's coffee cake."

"But I want tea."

"But it's coffee cake."

"I'll make chai."

Oh, so agreeable, Minoth. So pleasant and peace-minded. You've got the community spirit, have you? Or you've just always got to be right.

Addam decided he'd better pour the batter into greased tins and slide the tins carefully into a preheated oven, just as he'd been planning to, lest all of his delicate preparation go directly out the window along with his patience.

He set to washing the bowls and spoons, or at least setting them into the sink to soak, while Minoth made himself scarce over at the stove.

Then he could turn his attention back to the man of the hour, and he did so, with chin upon hands and narrowed eyes of his own. "You're tormenting me, for some reason I'm as yet unaware. Unfortunately," Addam spread his hands wide now, "there's no cake on the table for a man with a motive."

Minoth shrugged. "I just want tea."