Buffy wasted time lining up her tray just so. Both mugs to the right, a spare spoon between them. One big bowl of popped popcorn -- absolutely shareable and bound to invite many a knuckle-brushing. Jack had been right enough, for the whole thing smelled heavenly. Her culinary clumsy and the last tablespoons of his wild honey, married together into a fine excuse for an afternoon on the couch.

Eventually, she walked the negligible distance from the kitchen door to the living room coffee table. Buffy nudged the tray onto the table and took the shortcut -- a hop -- over his legs to get to the other side of the couch. That was where she found the narrow shelf where their eclectic collection of DVDS were kept.

"Nothing new there. Washing you is practically like a second job," she murmured, distracted, as she flipped through the booklet of discs.