Mildmay took a slice for himself, picking it up from the outer edge the same way Emma had, so it folded in on itself and made it easier to take a bite.

"Emma made it," he said again, like, of course it's good. And it was. Salty and fatty and not like anything he'd ever had before.

A little messy too, a faint sheen of grease on his fingertips when he finished the slice, that he sucked clean one finger at a time.