Author's Note:

From "The Way You Said 'I Love You'" tag, prompt 9: When baking chocolate chip cookies.

The door was unlocked. Even in the middle of the day, in a safe neighbourhood, this was unusual. It was particularly unusual at the Andrews house, which Veronica knew to typically boast multiple locks―plus a certain hunky, baseball bat-wielding teenager. She knocked several more times, then took a look up the block in either direction. Cars passed, dogs patrolled lawns, children played hopscotch in every other driveway. If the Black Hood had come a-calling, he'd done it with unbelievable stealth. But Veronica didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Even if she had, she wouldn't have been sufficiently prepared for what she found in the kitchen.

"Well, well, well," she said, announcing herself and relaxing into a more casual visiting posture, purse handle tucked neatly in the crook of her arm, "What have we here?"

The kitchen island was strewn with ingredients and cooking implements―more than Veronica thought she could've named had she been asked to produce a list. It was tidy though, tidier than Archie, anyway, who had clearly been ridding his hands of flour using his forehead and the legs of his jeans, alternately.

"Ronnie, hi!" Archie's body language screamed distraction, but he was never one to cheap out on her, especially in the smile department. He gave her a charming grin. "Come in!"

Her boyfriend bounded gracefully to her, kissed her cheek, and turned back to the island.

"I'd hug you," he added, glancing up again, "but my hands are coated."

"I noticed," she acknowledged chirpily. "Why the pop-up bake shop, Martha Stewart?"

Once more, Archie dragged his eyes away from the counter. They had landed on a recipe card, she noticed, hidden between canisters of she didn't know what.

"Um," the wipe of a hand added a new streak to his forehead, "there's a reporter coming from Greendale this afternoon to interview my dad about his run for mayor. I heard somewhere that baking makes your house smell nice when you're trying to sell it, but I figured it would work in any situation where you need to make a good impression."

"And Fred would be…?"

"Upstairs, practicing what he's going to say."

"So you're doing this to help your dad. I should've guess that one." She smiled adoringly at him. His generosity and thoughtfulness were never the surprise, only the ways in which he employed them. As Archie became absorbed again, apparently double-checking the temperature on his preheated oven, Veronica disposed of her jacket and handbag. "Put me to work," she demanded, fists on hips.

"Oh, uh, you don't have to, Ronnie, really."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You don't think I can?"

Archie snorted.

"I've never thought that about you. I just don't want to ruin…" He waved a hand to address her outfit. Sweet, she thought.

"You must have an apron somewhere in this kitchen. You seem to have just about everything else." Veronica nodded at the cluttered island. "Or you could just take off that shirt you're wearing."

"And have you put it on over your nice clothes?"

"Not necessarily." She smirked at Archie, watching the blush creep up his face.

Without responding, he began ducking, opening cupboard doors, drawing out sliding drawers. He straightened up, plain dark purple apron in hand, and passed it to her.

"My mom must have left it."

"Aha, Mary Andrews has good taste. My colour and everything."

She slipped it over her head and Archie gestured for her to turn. After he'd tied her in, his warm hand squeezed her waist, leaving the first flour smear on the apron. Suddenly, Veronica didn't really want to bake (she wanted to kiss him), but she'd pledged herself to the Fred Andrews campaign, and every little bit she could do would feel like penance for the time she'd wasted believing in her father's schemes.

"Alright, Archiekins," she said energetically, moving to view the recipe, "where did you leave off?"

Baking, it turned out, was a breeze. It helped that Archie was already halfway through when she started, that he had everything measured out in advance, and that he noticed immediately when she leaned her hip against the oven (during one of the several times she got caught up in how sexy he looked, flour smudges and all) and accidentally raised the temperature to double what it was supposed to be. Also, Veronica was absolutely certain that he was curating jobs for her as they went so that she always ended up with the easiest tasks, but she didn't mind. It was so kind, so gentlemanly that even while he was taking care of his dad, he was taking care of her too. Previously, her forte had been more ordering desserts than making them from scratch, and yet… with him, it wasn't so bad.

While their creations cooked, Veronica found a flour mark on the back pocket of Archie's jeans that she decided to help him brush off. Coincidentally, he claimed to have spotted a crumb of batter on her lip from where she'd snuck a spoonful of raw cookie dough which, apparently, only his tongue could remove. The timer her boyfriend had diligently set went off a few minutes later, ensuring things outside the oven didn't get as hot as the cookies inside it. It was close though.

As the cookies cooled on a rack, Veronica produced―magician-like―a handful of chocolate chips.

"Ronnie," Archie groaned, "those were supposed to go into the batter! You don't add them at the end!"

She shushed him.

"Relax, Archiekins. I put the rest in before we baked the cookies. I know what I'm doing."

Veronica shooed him away to get started on washing the dishes she'd already promised to dry. After staring hard at Archie's back to make sure he wouldn't turn around and spy on her, she carefully arranged the chocolate chips on three cookies; she figured he could spare that many out of the two dozen they'd made. Once the chocolate chips had melted into the surface of the cookies enough that they wouldn't roll off, Veronica grabbed her boyfriend by the arm and rotated him, revealing her work with a flourish. He read off the message―"I," a heart, and a "U"―and she revelled in the transparency of his delight, savouring his smile.

"What's this for?" he asked shyly. Oh Archie, she thought, as if you haven't earned it.

"I'm just proud of you." She wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're doing so much for your dad. You're loyal and giving and I don't deserve you." His eyebrows raised. "Ok," Veronica allowed, "I do deserve you."

He kissed her and held her close with his arms, keeping soapy hands away from her back.

"Think we could do this again? I think I'm a natural," Veronica joked.

"Sure," Archie agreed, easily and sincerely, leaning down to flip a strand of hair out of her now-floury face with his nose, "I think you are too."