There had been mention of it on that little excursion, and considering the draining circumstances Misty was more than pleased with the assumption that would be the whole of it. That he remembered it when she's said it all of once is itself fairly flattering.

A cake, upon sighting, elicits an immediate hand at the back of her neck, a shrinking, humble hunch of her shoulders. It would be hypocritical of her to call any cake not made out of a box anything short of impressive, and she looks it. He's too kind, as seems typical.

"Pretend I'm hugging you, please." She won't, understands the rule of thumb, but damn if she wouldn't like to. "Late isn't anything, this is-- very sweet, I'm not sure what to say. 'Thank you' seems too tiny. I appreciate the trouble, and expect you're gonna take at least half yourself."