“It’s just a little crisp around the edges,” he informed them, fanning aside the smoke. Zelda peered over his shoulder, the exotic scent of her perfume counterpointed by the aroma of burned noodles. “Crisp?” she repeated. “Quite an understatement, I’d say.” “It’s still edible,” Taylor insisted. “I don’t want any,” his traitorous daughter insisted. “It’s yucky.” Taylor refused to meet Zelda’s gaze. Given how the dish had wound up in its charred state, he could just imagine the sparks of tolerant I-told-you-so amusement lighting her eyes. “Okay, I’ll put a frozen pizza in for you,” he told Caitlin. “Zelda, how about you? Pizza or some of this delicious casserole.” Caitlin regarded their guest expectantly. “Your mother didn’t know I’d be here when she sent this over, right?” Zelda inquired. His gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Right,” he agreed. “So, what’s your point?” “Then I suppose I could risk the casserole,” she said thoughtfully.
