Angie smiled and pointed to the bowl of potatoes on the counter. "Choose either kind you like. And it's beef roast. I've been cooking it for two days."
She grinned at his near slip, knowing exactly what he was wanting to say. "I always thought you liked the smashed ones best," she commented, cutting through a large apple on a cutting board near him, preparing the apple tart she was going to make for dinner. "But the crispy ones are good too."
Reaching for the large knife, she passed it over to him, giving a distinct, 'Be careful,' look. "I remember when your father and I started dating," she began. "I never used to like pumpkin juice, but it's one of your father's favorites. And guess what? Now it's one of mine."