"Hey," Mal said, "I don't know your cooking habits. You might've. Lotsa college kids do weird shit in the kitchen." He, of course, was totally innocent of that. Now, anyway.

He grinned again. "Just means you gotta let someone cook for you more often," he insisted, before finishing off his loukoumade and picking up a baklava. The things were so sticky. He was glad for the napkins, but even more glad he kept wet-naps on hand, and before taking a bite, pulled a little resealable package of them out and set it on the table.