Illya looked on hungrily at the preparations for a Thanksgiving meal. Never before had he seen something this luscious, this enticing.
Layer upon layer of the orange colored potato were swathed in butter and brown sugar, pineapple and thin slices of orange. Finally, triumphantly, a topping of small marshmallows finished the grand assembly before being set into the oven to brown to perfection.
"And this is dessert?"
Her reply was as triumphant as the gooey crown. Landing the Russian for Thanksgiving was something for which this southern belle hoped they would both be truly thankful.
"No darlin'. Dessert comes later."