Work Text:
Two years later, Buffy opened the door to find Angel lugging, of all things, a duffel bag.
"You were supposed to let me finish baking," she informed him.
He shifted his feet uncomfortably. It was a new house, in a quiet suburban neighborhood that nevertheless managed to have its share of
demon problems, and the pertinent point was that he had never been invited into it. "I wanted to check up on you," he said.
"You haven't been lurking around spying on me for the last month, have you?" Possibly an unfair thing to say, but on the other hand, this was Angel. He did that sort of thing by reflex.
"Just one afternoon," Angel said. "I'll leave after that, if you want. But I had to be sure."
"What's in the duffel bag?"
"Invite me in and you'll find out."
She moved aside. "Come in, then."
To Buffy's surprise, the bag contained three different kinds of flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, four different kinds of sugar, butter in tubs..."You could have phoned ahead and asked if I had all this stuff!"
"I didn't want to put you to the trouble," Angel said. "Now, what should we do first? Chocolate chip? Snickerdoodles? Peanut butter? Brownies?"
"When I said the whole baking thing," Buffy said, "I didn't mean it literally."
He smiled for the first time. It lit up his face in a way that made her heart ache in that old, familiar way. "But I do."