Perhaps some berry tarts. I remember you both enjoying those when I baked for you last.

[The party, it feels so distant now to him. That he'd be a part of any manner of celebration that didn't involve murder at the end, that he'd be in the kitchen gladly, that he'd volunteer said services just to see someone smile. It's a strange thought that doesn't quite fit in with the past few months of his life but it had been and might yet be.

Thought thoughts of murder do remind him of one other person in the village.]

Is that trinket woman still here?