Lily was chopping the potatoes she’d peeled; Benedict leaned against the wall near the door, watching; and Toby sat at the round table, reading. Rain drizzled down outside as it had, off and on, all night.Rule was happy.“What did you say this was called again?” Lily asked.“A frittata.” Rule looked over his shoulder. At Lily’s insistence, he’d begun teaching her basic kitchen skills. It wasn’t that she’d developed an interest in cooking. She just got twitchy if he did all the work.At the moment she was dicing potatoes . . . slowly. Meal preparation took longer with her help than without it, though he had hopes she’d pick up speed eventually. “Would you like a measuring tape?” he asked politely as he whisked the eggs.“That’s sarcasm,” she observed without looking up. Another careful slice. “You said you wanted a half-inch dice.”“It’s okay to be off a millimeter here and there.”Toby looked up from his book. “Is it almost ready?”“No. You can get out the bread and slice it, however.
