#Chapter76
When Angel came back, Ronan was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen table, a saucepan on his head like a general's hat and a whisk at his side like his trusty musket, and all the icky food from the fridge were trapped beneath the washing basket. The cabbage, the sprouts, the icky-nasty, never to be used under any circumstances celery was also in there. They were imprisoned for their grievous crimes against innocent little boys, and he refused to let them out until they promised to go into hiding and remove themselves from the shelves of every store in the universe.
Lucien was sat in the sink, his butt in the basin and legs swinging over, and he was washing each individual grape before he ate them. Only problem was that he was washing them in his lap, and he was now a soaking wet, giggly, happy little boy.
