[Adele turns to look back over her shoulder without breaking the melody of the song and waves at Steve. Bacon's waiting to be fried off to one side, eggs rest in a plate to be cooked, and she has a bowl of thick bread soaking. Simple. Hearty. Very American, but this was something that was easy to cook and she didn't want to worry overmuch about details.

She lets the song trail off into silence as she adds a tab of butter to the frying pan, the crackle and hiss adding a faint staccato under her voice.]

Two months ago. Normally I am out before you are, but I slept in this morning. I hope neither of you object to French toast.