Work Text:
By the time he opened the back door, the person who had knocked was gone. It must have been Claire. She had left a basket of fruit on their doorstep.
He cheered.
Picking one of the egg-shaped fruit he sniffed it and ran his thumb over it. The deep purple skin shone in the sunlight. The prune was just perfect.
By the time Rose got home, he had pitted the prunes. She hated pitting, and he was ready to do anything for her cakes.
She kissed him. “Good job I made the dough earlier.”
“You, Rose Tyler, are brilliant!”