Clive ferried the bags up the stairs while Mrs. Havasnark took Bryant into her apartment to tend to his wounds. When Clive finished and came down he found Bryant sitting on an overstuffed sofa, knuckles bandaged, with two cats jostling for possession of his lap. He was munching a Snickerdoodle while Mrs. Havasnark showed him one of her scrap books. Every time Clive was tempted to put Snarky's claims about her past down to wishful thinking he reminded himself of the multitude of programs and clippings that featured her name (even though it was often lost in the tiny print near the end, a half-step up from 'and others').

Bryant pointed at one playbill. "Tannenbaum--I've seen that one. They took all the kids at the group home one Christmas when I was about ten." He was smiling in fond nostalgia--it was apparently one of the few good memories he had of his childhood.

Mrs. Havasnark smoothed the piece of paper. "Wonderful review. It's been running unchanged at the Metropolis Art Center for the last forty-five or so Christmases."

Bryant squinted at the paper, chewing thoughtfully. "I guess I didn't see you. This bill is from before I was born."

"Yes, bubbie. I did six years in that production, but it was cough awhile back." Her eyes were shining with fond memories. "I started out as a tree ornament--a red one, of course. Then I worked my way up through tinsel and snowflake to elf. My last two years," her bosum swelled proudly, "I was featured as the ballerina doll." She sighed. "The Raggedy Andy I danced with was such a cutie under all that baggy fabric. I had to keep telling myself, 'Lettie, you're dancing for children. Keep your thoughts pure.'" She shrugged. "I was marginally successful."

Clive patted her shoulder. "You two can stroll down memory lane later, doll--I want to take Bryant down to Lavender's Green. As fascinated as Trent is by cooking, he'll be worried about us, and Bryant ought to talk to Toddy about finalizing that job."

"Sure, sweetie. Trenton and I are going to be recipe swapping buddies before too long." Her eyes crinkled at Bryant. "I do believe that between the two of us at Christmas, we'll give our loved ones something to make New Year's resolutions about."

"I have no doubt, you fiend," said Clive dryly. "My gym need never fear losing my membership as long as you reside here."

They both dropped kisses on Mrs. Havasnark's soft, wrinkled cheeks, then made their way out to the street. As they drove toward Lavender's Green, Clive said, "I don't have to tell you how proud I am of how you handled yourself, Bri."

Bryant flushed a little. There hadn't been many people in his life who'd expressed pride in him. "No, you don't--I can tell. But still, it's nice to hear."

Clive nodded. "When you get to a certain stage in your life, you no longer need the approval of the world." His expression softened a little. "But you never stop needing the approval of the ones you care about. That's why I'm always so careful to praise my lambs when they've done well."

When they arrived at Lavender's Green, it was settled into its usual afternoon quiet. Toddy was at his accustomed place behind the bar, surveying his stock and jotting down notes. When he saw them, he grinned widely. "Thank heavens! Now you can rescue my cook from your boy. Elise is too much of a professional to let dinner slide, but when she has Trenton to distract her, she's likely to wait so long to get started that she almost bursts something making the deadline. He's gone through rum balls and lemon teacakes, and was last heard coaxing her about fruitcake gems. She's holding firm only because we don't have any candied orange peel or citron right now."

"Really? Considering the sort of drinks Scribe has taught you, I'm surprised you don't keep a supply on hand," Clive said wryly.

"Toddy," said Bryant, "I've resolved my previous problems. I'm ready to start whenever you need me."

"Are you, now?" Toddy sounded pleased. "Well, then, you just march your butt behind the bar and we'll start with showing you how to fix garnishes and set up your station." As Clive walked back to the kitchen, Toddy was saying, "I have a notebook of the most popular drinks, and I'll loan it to you to study. Guard it with your life. I've had very tasty sums offered for a peek at it from other bar owners, but I'm not about to do it. We're the only purveyor of official Scribe introduced drinks, and I intend to keep it that way."

The kitchen smelled even better than usual--a combination of vanilla, sugar, spice, and the warm, indescribable scent that accompanied any kind of baking. There was a handful of plates on the table, piled high with fragrant circles and balls. Elise was supervising Trenton, who was at the counter, hands buried to mid-forearm in a huge mixing bowl, working industriously. Elise was saying, "That's right, honey. Make sure you get all that dry stuff worked in good. Nothin' nastier than bitin' into some dry flour when you're eatin' somethin' nice."

"Unless it's biting into an uncooked patch," Trenton ammended. "Ick. If I want raw dough, I'll eat raw dough."

"Yes, I've noticed that. Child, if I let you have your way, I don't think more'n a full dozen of those cookies would have made it into the oven." Elise looked up at Clive, her dark face splitting in a blinding smile. "Well, lookee here. Trent, it's your other half."

Trenton turned immediately, face anxious, and Clive said quickly, "Exactly as last seen, pet."

"Bri?"

Clive made a face. "Some skinned knuckles, but I know that he's happy to have them, considering how they were acquired. Elise, has this brat run you completely ragged?"

She chuckled. "He tried, but I'm tougher than the chicken yard's last rooster. Trenton, honey, go on and get cleaned up and go with your man. I have to get started on dinner, or the evenin' crowd is gonna go hungry, and you know Elise doesn't do that."

"But what about the cake? I still have to add the apples and nuts and cherries, and then we have to bake it, and..." Trenton protested.

"That can wait till tomorrow," said Elise firmly. "One thing about baking, sweetie--there aren't too many things that are the worse for resting in a refrigerator overnight."

"But you said we could serve it as a featured dessert."

Clive's tone was firm. "Take that whine out of your voice, young man."

Trenton's attitude changed instantly to contrite. "Yes, sir."

Elise hugged him, careful to stay away from his goopy hands. "Don't fret, Trenton. It'll just be tomorrow's dessert." She winked at Clive. "Something good is worth waiting for, isn't it?"

Trenton went to the sink to wash his hands as Elise covered the bowl of batter and put it away. Clive came up behind him, slipping his arms around the boy's waist as he washed his hands. "Precisely what was that you were fondling, precious?"

"Polish Apple Cake. The batter is so thick that you can't mix it except with your hands--Elise warned me about that." He made a face. "I tried anyway and broke one of her wooden spoons."

Clive tipped his head to look back at Elise. "Dear, do I need to spank this brat for you?"

Elise was removing carrots from the vegetable crisper, and she chuckled. "Only if you really want to, Clive. I've done punished him already. I told him he doesn't get dessert when he eats here for the next week."

"You're a gentle woman."

"Talk to my younguns an' they might tell you a different story. I've worn out a few bottoms in my time." Her eyes twinkled. "Not for exactly the same reason you have, though."

Trenton finished his washing, and he and Clive went back out to the club. As soon as he spotted Bryant, Trent cast a glance back at Clive, and recieved a nod. He loped over to the bar, draping himself over it, and was immedieately lost in conversation with his friend. Clive could tell by Trent's intensity and Bryant's reassuring expression that the older boy was setting Trenton's worries at rest.

Tinkerbelle, one of the club's waitresses, paused in wiping down a nearby table. "Hey Clive. Do we have you to thank for the new talent behind the bar?"

"I pointed him here, but he's beholden to no one."

She paused, leaning on the table negligently, watching Bryant with marked interest. "He's his own man, huh?"

"Absolutely, precious." Bryant glanced up from his work and his conversation with Trenton. Tinkerbelle stood straight, casually giving her top a tug that revealed another quarter inch of cleavage. Most people would have missed the tiny curve at the corners of his mouth, but Clive didn't. And you just might be the right sort of light romp to reinforce his newfound sense of control.

Clive went over to the bar and hooked a finger in the back of Trenton's belt, tugging lightly. "Time to go. Go get a plate of those goodies for your mother."

Trenton turned what Clive called his 'puppy dog eyes' ("Though I've never yet seen a puppy with eyes that shade of green.") on him. "I thought I'd spend the night."

Clive shook his head firmly. "That would be five nights this week, precious, and I don't want Lynette to have to start resorting to your picture to remember what you look like." Trenton trudged toward the kitchen, dragging his feet. "And if you keep acting like a four year old, I'll treat you like one, and you'll spend your next visit with your nose in a corner." Trent picked up his feet the rest of the way.

When the kitchen door closed, Bryant said, "Clive?"

"Precious?"

"I know I don't have to suggest that you tell me this is none of my business, because I know you will, if that's how you feel."

Clive drummed his fingers on the bar. "Yes?"

"Why aren't you and Trenton living together?" Bryant waited. Clive didn't say anything, but the silence wasn't ominous, so he continued. "Granted my personal experience with domesticity has been particularly shitty, but I know it can be good, and anyone but a blind imbecile could see that you're right for each other."

"He's still very young in some ways, Bri."

Bryant smiled faintly. "I've seen you two together, remember?"

Clive shrugged, then said quietly, "His father died when he was quite young. It's been Trenton and Lynette for quite some time now. Perhaps Trenton is ready to move out, but I'm not entirely convinced that Lynette is ready for it."

Bryant had met Lynette at Attitudes, and had taken an immediate liking to her. Part of it was the obvious love for her son that shone through every moment she was with him. Mostly it was the fact that Lynette knew of the relationship between Trenton and her boss and not only had no problem with it, but blessed it. "I don't think she'd try to persuade him not to."

"I know she wouldn't, no matter how badly it hurt her. That's why I have to be the one to say 'no' for all of us--until the time is right, and that may be soon. She's been seeing quite a bit of a man named Henderson Barbieri. He picked her up at work once--seems like a decent sort."

Bryant shook his head. "Does Havasnark know about this?" He was smiling mischieviously.

Clive snorted. "Are you joking? Trenton and I have been very careful not to mention it to her. Among her many careers, Snarky claims to be an acredited matchmaker, though WHERE one would get a degree, and what sort of classes would be required to earn one quite escapes me. We do not want Barbieri to be confronted with a determined Havasnark, lest he spook and flee for the hills." Trenton emerged from the kitchen with a foil covered plate in hand. He was chewing, and when he noticed Clive watching him, he swallowed quickly. Clive rolled his eyes. "Elise may have a firm hand with her children, but I think she treats you more like a grandbaby. She let you have a sweet, didn't she?" Trenton ducked his head, nodding guiltily. "Oh, don't look so hang dog, dear. I'm not in the habit of enforcing other people's punishments unless they ask nicely. Say goodbye to Bryant."

"Bye, Bryant. Seven tomorrow?"

"Make it eight. I don't know how late Toddy will need me."

In the car Trenton said plaintively, "Clive, Henderson is coming over for supper tonight. They aren't going to want me hanging around. I'll just end up in my room, so they can have some time alone together."

Clive was tempted, but he held to his decision. "Trenton, you don't want to look as if you're avoiding him, do you?" Trenton shook his head glumly. They were stopped at a red light, and Clive reached over and patted his thigh. "Lambie, you know I'm right."

"Yeah, I know." He took Clive's hand and kissed it briefly before letting it go. "It's just... It's just hard sometimes, you know?"

Clive reached toward Trent, but the light changed, and he had to drive on. His voice was a little bleaker than he would have liked when he spoke again. "Yes, baby--I do know."