Work Text:
“Why do they call it cherry-picking?” Ringo remarked as they observed, appropriately, the cherry bush in their garden.
“What d’you mean?” George asked.
“Why cherries specifically?” Ringo made a reach for one, but then dropped his hand to his side. “I mean, if it means you choose the best of somethin’ out of the rest, why cherries? You’d choose the best apples and you’d choose the best oranges.”
“Right, uh,” George thought for a moment. “ ‘cause it… sounds catchier?”
“Oh c’mon now, what’s wrong with apple-picking?”
“Nothing! Apples are… well…”
“They’re both red, they’re both fruit,” Ringo supplied. “They’re both two syllables.”
“Ta, that’s very helpful,” George snarked. Then it hit him. “Usually ye eat one apple in one sitting, no?”
“What’s that gotta do with pickin’ it?”
“You gotta make it count, y'know. Pick the perfect apple.”
“You could pick like five perfect apples if you liked.”
“What tree gives out five perfect apples in one bloom?”
“I dunno!” Ringo threw his palms up and huffed closer towards the bush. “Let’s get crackin’. You want cherry pie or not?”
“Hmm. Think I’ve changed my mind, actually.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” George took a calculated step towards Ringo and swept him up into an embrace, quick as a snap. “You’ve convinced me that I want apple pie.”
“You’re bloody hopeless,” but Ringo grinned. Behind them the forgotten red fruit sparkled like rubies.