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“What is this about?” Aziraphale looked dubiously at the strip of cloth Crowley held out to him.
“Told you. It's a surprise.”
“A surprise that needs me to be blindfolded in my own home?”
“Trust me. You're going to like this one.”
Trust was one of those words they’d been working on. He was perfectly happy to trust his demon with his life, but he definitely didn't trust his demon with making a good cup of tea just exactly how he liked it yet. Not that Crowley had to try it of course, but the instinct for mischief ran deep.
However, this was still his Crowley, and Aziraphale hadn’t stood next to him at the end of the world just to not spend time with him now.
He did allow himself a put-upon sigh, though. “Very well. What did you want to show me?”
“Blindfold first.”
“Crowley you are not making me take those stairs blindfolded. Whoever built this cottage--”
“You love the cottage!”
“--which, yes, I love, did not in the slightest understand even step heights. I will put on your blindfold at the bottom of the stairs!”
“Fine,” Crowley pouted. “At the bottom of the stairs, though.”
Once safely down the stairs, Aziraphale closed his eyes and submitted to being blindfolded. “So what’s it to be? A surprise party? Blind man’s buff?”
“This way.” Crowley took his hand and led him step by step to the kitchen chair. “I’ve started harvesting from the garden, and I want you to guess what each thing is.”
“Oh!” Maybe this would be some fun after all. “And what do I get if I guess correctly?”
“There’s a theme. I think you’ll like it.” Something cool and a little bit rough was pressed into his hand. “What’s that?”
The shape was unmistakable, but he sniffed it anyway. “A pear! Delightful-- I didn’t know we had a pear tree!”
He felt Crowley’s shrug. “You like pears. What about this one?”
The next thing was smooth and long, bulbous on one end and faintly spongy. He felt for and found its little cap. “An aubergine?”
“Two for two!”
“We’ll make some ratatouille tonight! What’s next?”
What was next was a courgette, firm and slightly curved, followed by a waxy, bumpy cucumber.
Aziraphale was sensing a pattern here, but told himself they were all perfectly reasonable veg to have in summer.
The next thing wasn’t yielding at all, with a rounded end that tapered into a long shaft. He might not have got it if it weren’t for the greens still attached. “I’m sure that’s not quite the usual shape for a turnip, dear.”
“Hang on, there’s just a couple more.”
The next thing pressed into his hands was curved and hexagonal, like someone had crossed a pencil and a boomerang. “All right, I know you didn’t plant a banana tree. They don’t even grow here!”
“Do you have the theme yet?”
“No,” Aziraphale lied, fiddling with the end of the banana. He was strongly tempted to peel it and tongue it, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without being able to see Crowley’s face.
“Last one, then.”
The last thing pressed into his hand was flat and hard, round on one end and angled on the other, and Aziraphale gave up. “This is the crevice tool from the hoover,” he said, pulling the blindfold off. “And if you’d like to have sex you know you really could just say so.”