“I⁠—I don’t know,” I said, momentarily confused.

He turned away to the fireplace.

“Like some more soup?” he asked in a casual tone.

“Yes, please. I’m so hungry that I could eat a hippopotamus.”

“That’s good.”

He busied himself with the fire; I watched.

“When I can get off the couch, I’ll cook for you,” I promised.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about cooking.”

“I can warm up things out of tins as well as you can,” I retorted, pointing to a row of tins on the mantelpiece.

“Touché,” he said, and laughed.