“How did you come to take an interest in such a large vegetable, umral?” Thorin smoothed the last handful of mulch with his trowel and sat back on his heels to wipe away a trickle of sweat from his brow.
“Oh there’s a little everyday glory to growing something bigger than yourself, isn’t there!” Bilbo offered Thorin his handkerchief, but held it out of reach til Thorin had tugged off his dirty gardening gloves. “And anyway, think of the food!” Bilbo shut his eyes rapturously and pressed one hand to his heart, “Pumpkin mash, roast pumpkin, pumpkin soup, pumpkin pudding, pumpkin cake, pumpkin pie, pumpkin pickles, pumpkin ale, pumpkin punch! Oh Thorin, pumpkin ice cream!” Bilbo was in such a state at the idea that he was compelled to brace himself against the pumpkin and sip from the glass of cordial he’d brought out for Thorin’s refreshment.
“That is rather tremendous pressure on my appetite,” said Thorin, somewhat gravely as he was enjoying himself far more than would be advisable to let on. “Though I suppose the biggest is destined for the fair and some Sackville Baggins comeuppance?”
Bilbo wisely did not hear the last bit, “Oh my love, I have every faith in your appetite.”