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Something was burning. Beatrice recognized the acridness of smoke and hurried out of the bedroom to the kitchen, her years of training taking over before she could remind herself that this was a Volunteer’s apartment, and she said, “Help has arrived! Where’s the fire?”
Sheepishly looking up from the charred bagel he had pried from the toaster, her boyfriend smiled at her. “Suppose the secret’s out now, Trice,” he chuckled, “when it comes to cooking, I temporarily defect.”
Beatrice had to bite her lip to wipe the touched grin off her face.