"Well, you can't be worse at it than I am," Veronica said dryly, suppressing a grin. "My specialties at home either slanted or came out of a box. Although I am a genius when it comes to cookies." In a way, she'd always figured she would learn from her mother, the stuff of bad Fifties sit-coms, if June Cleaver had been downing vodka between scenes. She'd learned a lot from Lianne, but cooking hadn't been included in the lesson plan.

Walking along, she let him lead the way, knowing the outline of the plan and uncertain of the details. His hand was rough in hers, and it was kind of strange after so long, but not unpleasant. That seemed to be the case with a lot of things when it came to him; it was weird, going through these steps again with someone new, but she was finding she didn't mind.