A/N: I missed day 6,but I'll get that up sooner or later!

"What kind of pie should we bake, Marinette?" Mr. Dupain-Cheng stood with his daughter in the bakery kitchen, pie crust ingredients spread across the counters.

The girl in question tilted her head in thought. "Hmm, how about apple pie? With," she added, "cinnamon enhancements?"

Marinette's father clapped his hands together. "Cinnamon Apple it is," he confirmed.

Marinette had lived so long in the baking world that she knew the steps to make a pie by heart (and cookies? Pshh! She can make them in her sleep with both hands tied behind her back. Well, not really, but you get the point.)

After setting the oven, Marinette pulled the proper filling ingredients from the shelves and pantries as her father began on the crust. Out came several apples, cinnamon, nutmeg, and lemon juice; some of the other ingredients were already out. She began peeling and slicing the apples, dumping the pieces into a bowl along with the other essential parts needed for the apple filling. She stirred the bowl's contents, coating the apple slices in the mixture.

When her father finished with the crust, Marinette dumped the apples into the crust's depression, leveling out the filling as flat as needed be. Next came the top crust and Marinette's father crimped and slit it.

Pushing the pie tin into the heated oven, Marinette helped her father clean the workstation, washing dishes and wiping down the countertops. "Now we have to wait a long, long time," she sighed. "Baking it isn't even the longest part of the whole process; waiting for the pie to cool takes absolutely forever!" Sure, she was exaggerating, but having to sit while smelling the delicious, just baked, fresh-out-of-the-oven dessert? Complete. Torture.

Mr. Dupain-Cheng chuckled. "Come on, Marinette, I'm sure you'll be able to take your mind off of the pie. You know how easily caught up you can get in other things. Why don't you work on one of your sewing projects for the time being? Or better yet, homework?"

Marinette stuck out her tongue, pantomiming a gag. "Aw, no thanks! Sewing is fine for now." The girl escaped to her room, biding her time until the pie was ready. It was hard, though, as time went on and the sweet smells wafted up all the way to her room.

Unfortunately, sewing did not hold Marinette's attention for long. She shuffled back to the kitchen, leaning against the bakery's brick wall. The apple pie sat on the table, steam slowly floating upwards from the crust's surface. The timer indicated that there was still an hour left to wait, which was a shame, because that pie smelled really, really good.

Marinette slumped upstairs to the living room where her mother and father sat on the sofa, watching television. She draped herself dramatically across her mother's lap, bringing a hand to her forehead. "Maman, I'll surely perish if I don't get a slice of that pie soon."

"Marinette," her mother tsked. "Stop being so melodramatic and sit up. The pie will be ready soon enough."

The girl huffed and sat up, sitting beside her mother. "I know, I know. It's just that I am so impatient. If only I were born with the gift of waiting silently. Wouldn't that be swell?"

Marinette busied herself with the T.V., watching whatever it was that appeared in the screen. After her parents left, she sprawled across the sofa, lying her head on a pillow.

Marinette awoke to shrill, piercing noise. She jolted out of her stupor, arms pushing her into a sitting position. It was the kitchen timer! Before her father could call her name, she zoomed down the stairs and into the bakery kitchen.

There was the pie, golden brown and finally (finally!) cool enough to eat.

Mr. Dupain-Cheng came down from the stairs, shaking his head at his daughter, an amused look on his face. "You and that pie," he sighed good naturedly.

Marinette picked up the pie, moving it to the counter by the knife drawer. "What can I say? I like pie!"