[She can recognize how her very specific answer is creeping him out, and yeah, she can't blame him- it'd be freaky to her if a stranger knew all of that, too. That's one thing she can't really fix. And what's her alternative, tossing out an answer with no flair? Nah. He has to know that there's history here, that she isn't just some Sizzle It Up nerd who gathered intel that literally wouldn't even exist in this world.

Not... that he knows that, either. Gods this is shitty.]

Please, that's kids stuff. Granola oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. You didn't just memorize it, it was the first one you made better. They stay soft and gooey on the road long after they ought to, but the granola's always got that perfect crunch... mmmm. Love that shit.

[They didn't get to have it nearly enough- when you're technically homeless and being tossed from relative to relative or caravan or whatever, chocolate was a luxury they rarely got to work with. But that's what made it memorable- the promise of something truly excellent if they found themselves somewhere worth sticking to for long enough to get some.

He'd made it every chance they got- he knew it was one of her favourites. A simple classic and easy to steal out of the kitchen once it came time to leave.]