The oven timer went off. Sophie reached forward and silenced it with one hand, and Stan stepped back just enough to let her pull the door open.
The smell that rolled out was even better, deeper, finished, properly done, and she set both trays on the stovetop and stood back to look at them with the expression of a person whose gamble has just paid off exactly as calculated.
Golden crust. Crisp edges on the fries. Everything exactly the color it was supposed to be.
"Told you," she said with a cute smile
Stan looked over the trays, then back at her, taking his time.
"You did," he said. "Smells right. Looks even better." A faint pause, then, softer, "Chef's kiss."
Color rose to her cheeks at that, unavoidable, given that the words 'chef's kiss' reminded her of her kiss with him, and then she turned away before it could show too clearly.
She reached for the serving dish she'd already set out, of course she had, and began transferring the pieces with quiet, composed satisfaction.
