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"You can touch me whenever you like, Clem." I shrugged and held my hand to her. "I like when you touch me."

"You can touch me, too," she said, then quickly corrected. "But not tickling. I strongly dislike tickling. It's unacceptable." Her lips pursed and she shook her head firmly.

"Okay." I chewed the inside of my cheek to fight my broadening smile. "I promise to never tickle you."

"Good." She lifted a brow at me then added, "I might tickle you though, if you don't hate it."

A laugh escaped me, and she finally accepted my hand. "I don't hate it as long as it's brief and playful."

"It seems like we're on the same page." She smiled then urged me toward the kitchen. In her sock-covered feet, she walked on her tiptoes for a moment until she stopped by the fridge. "How was work today?" she asked, still holding my hand while she began taking out whatever she needed to make dinner.

"Eh. How about you?"

"Good." She squeezed my hand then turned around. "Why eh?"

"It's been…" I thought about my words cautiously. "Unsatisfying lately."

She urged me to the kitchen table, then nudged me to sit. I found myself obeying in an unusual way.

"Relax here while I cook."

"Can I help?"

"Nope. Tell me about unsatisfying work." She spun around and began working quickly. I noticed she already had the inside ingredients prepared, and so rolling the tortillas and lining them up in the pan became the majority of the task.

"It's the case. It's so frustrating. We have so much information and yet none of it is narrow enough. These women were killed so specifically. How can we not get justice for them? Sorry…you're working with food. Is it too much to talk about death and dying?"

"Not at all." She tossed me a cheeky grin over her shoulder. "I've been known to watch autopsies while imbibing in the spirits of a rich chili."

I laughed hard and shook my head. "Me too."

"I've said before that forensics is my special interest and I mean it. You should see my home office-slash-library. I think you'll like it." She poured a sauce over the enchiladas then garnished them. I watched the way her movements, while fluid, appeared practiced and cautious at the same time. Not a single bit of cheese or sauce fell out of place.

"I'd like to see it. Forensics is somewhat my special interest, too, but not when I don't make progress."

"You're very hard on yourself, it seems…"

"I am."

We fell into a brief quiet, which ended when the beep of the pre-heated oven interrupted it. She placed the casserole pan with the food in it, then set the timer. Clem's movements enthralled me, and the way she was so careful about moving things around carried a sentimental charm that I knew I wouldn't forget. She washed her hands, then set the table beside me for two.

"What can I get you to drink? I have iced tea, water, and coffee. Or if you would like wine, I have red and white."

"Um…let's stick with coffee. Thanks." I paused for a moment then added, "It's strange not helping you."

"Deal with it." She smiled at me, her tongue between her teeth.

I laughed and shook my head. "You're so cute."

"Nah." She moved to the single-serve coffee machine and brewed up two quick cups. "I have almond milk and regular. Which do you prefer?"

"You always have both?"

She nodded. "I like regular milk in cereal, but almond or soy for everything else."

"Totally get it. Whatever you have I'll have."

"Almond it is. Anything else for you?"