“Mmmm... Illya... Look...” Napoleon was pointing at the calendar, with a bright smile. “It's Groundhog Day!”
Illya Kuryakin peeped over his glasses and shook his head in feigned dismay. “Oh... Again...”
Napoleon chuckled. “I thought we could have lunch and...”
“And watch the news, in order to know whether your groundhog saw his shadow?” The Russian put his large hand on the huge pile of reports. “I'm sorry, I've to finish that as soon as possible.” He cracked a smile at the boyish disappointed face and held out a note “But... we're invited at aunt Amy's home this evening. She left a message.” He took off his glasses, tilted his head and added innocently “You'll tell me about Phil and his shadow...”
Napoleon barely touched the doorbell when the door opened. A beaming Amy hugged him. “You're on time, dear!” She brushed his cheek and dragged him towards the kitchen.
“Here he is, Illya!”
The table was laid for three. The Russian stood next to the stove, a ladle in one hand, the other stirring methodically something in a big bowl with a spoon.
“What are you doing? I thought...”
Amy chuckled. “Illya is making pancakes... no... crêpes for us, Napoleon!”
Illya Kuryakin poured carefully a ladle of batter in a pan and spread it all over.
The Russian lifted the pan and flipped the crêpe into the air, catching it deftly back. A few seconds later, he presented the crêpe to Amy, sprinkling sugar over it.
“I studied in the Sorbonne, Napoleon. On the 2nd of February, in France, it's the Chandeleur. It's the Catholic holiday of Candlemas and...” A second crêpe was flipped into the air and caught back. “ Chandeleur means Feast of the Lights also because...” The crêpe ended up in Napoleon's plate, “days are growing longer and longer... Spring is coming... French love crêpes and everyone cooks crêpes on the Chandeleur Day...” He opened his right hand and showed a coin. “The tradition is to flip the crêpe into the air with a coin in the other hand. If you get back the crêpe in the pan, your family will be prosperous and happy all the year...”
Amy clapped , obviously delighted. “That's a lovely tradition! Napoleon, you have to try! Make the next crêpe for Illya and I'll try, too!”
A smiling innocent Russian held out the ladle to his partner. “Oh... and what about Phil, Napoleon?”