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Jon started baking breads in the aftermath of well, everything with the Institute, and it's become a sort of tradition for him to make fresh scones for Christmas. In previous years, it's been a relatively quiet affair—Martin's off at work, so Jon can essentially do what he wants in the kitchen. He would turn on music, spread out around the counters, and use the table for rolling out the dough.
This year, though, he contemplates the small space with narrowed eyes, hands on his hips as he mentally surveys Sasha's usual haunts. She's taken to sitting on a kitchen chair while Jon cooks, venturing up onto the table occasionally. She has only once tried to make a break for the counter with food on it, and she managed to successfully stick her whole face into freshly whipped cream.
He sighs. There's no two ways about it. If he wants to get these scones made successfully, she'll need to be kept away from the kitchen.
He's going to have to bribe her.
And after getting everything ready on the counter, he does just that. Laying treats across the length of the living room may be a bit excessive, all things considered, but what Martin doesn't know won't hurt him, Jon reasons, shrugging to himself as Sasha leaps from treat to treat, devouring them.
Jon gets to work quickly, measuring and combining ingredients in now familiar motions. He cranes his neck to check on Sasha a few times, and she's either eating the treats or playing with them. It's working out far better than he'd expected, honestly.
At least, until the very end. Jon's gotten the dough rolled out and cut into circles, but he forgot to line the baking sheet with parchment paper. He swears quietly to himself as he digs the roll out and tears off a square.
When he turns back to the table, parchment-covered sheet in hand, he finds Sasha perched delicately on the table, looking up at him with her wide eyes, one paw print in the middle of a scone.
He laughs as he scrambles for his phone, wanting to capture this to show Martin. After a few quick pictures (because why take just one when she's this cute?), he crosses the space in a few steps and scratches behind her ear.
Her purr rumbles up at him and he smiles. "Well, at least it was only one. We'll save that one for your dad, shall we?"
Her tiny meow is the perfect response.