"You just did," he said, smiling at the caf maker. "Otherwise… not really, just going to reheat some things." He said as if he was going to put them into the microwave, not fire up the stovetop and start to toss and stir things in pans. Which he did with a casual fluency that didn't really leave room for assistance—and spoke of someone not bound by recipes or worried about getting singed.

In quick order, he'd slid the results onto plates and the plates onto the table and turned off the stove. He'd also found juice somewhere, reconstituted but he'd done something so it tasted almost real, with ice cubes he must have set last night.