The oven timer dings, and Clint pops his head up. "Are you making something?"
"You can't smell it?" Phil says, getting up and walking into the kitchen.
"I'm two rooms away," Clint tells him. He can still hear the oven door open and shut, shuffling noises of trays. He gets up, curious, putting his book aside; if there's food to be had, Clint is probably interested.
When he gets to the kitchen, Phil is taking little bread things off of a cookie sheet and putting them on a serving tray. Now he can smell it, and it smells damn good. Phil is pretty much an expert at everything he has ever tried in his life, and baking is not an exception.
"Pineapple and coconut scone?" Phil says, and now that Clint knows what they are, they sound much less appealing.
"I'm not much into health food," Clint says, waving him off.
"That's the same argument as saying that strawberry ice cream is health food because it has strawberries in it," Phil tells him, holding up a scone. "Try a bite. Just one bite, and I guarantee you'll want one." He looks shifty for a moment. "I hope. I haven't actually tried this recipe yet."
Despite his misgivings, Clint lets Phil feed him a bite. It's pretty good, not too dry, just a little chewy, a nice piece of pineapple in the middle. The flavor is interesting, though. "It's kinda different," he says.
Phil frowns. "In a bad way?"
"No, just different," he says, taking another bite. "Reminds me of something."
"The website called them piña colada scones," Phil offers.
Clint grins. "I like piña coladas."
"Oh my God, you're going to start singing," Phil says, putting down the scone. "Why do I walk into this every time?"
"What?" Clint says innocently. "Do you not like getting caught in the rain?"
Phil sighs. "Actually, no, Clint, I do not like getting caught in the rain."
"I know you're not into yoga," Clint says, putting his arms around Phil's waist, "but I have it on good authority that you like making love at midnight."
"If I'd say no to that, I must not have half a brain," Phil says.
"Now you got it," Clint says, smiling. He kisses Phil's cheek. "So come with me and escape."
"But there are fresh scones," Phil protests.
"You have a baked goods problem," Clint tells him, shaking his head. "They can be reheated."
"So can you," Phil says.
"Admit it," Clint says. "I'm the love that you've looked for."
Phil smiles, kissing him. "Who ever said you weren't?" He pulls away, only to take Clint's hand. "Come on."
"You sure?" Clint teases. "Wouldn't want you to miss warm scone time."
"There's a reason God made the microwave," Phil tells him, pulling him away.