Matt grinned in her direction. "It totally counts. I hear that yeast can be a real beast." He paused for effect and then snorted, his nose wrinkling. "There's a reason I went into law and not the Fine Arts."
There was that note again, sad, melancholy. He had just worked up the courage to ask about it or to find a way to start that conversation—probably by telling her she didn't need to help him, though it was appreciated—when her question brought him up short. "Probably not as often as decent people would. I walked into a client meeting with a mottled pink shirt a few too many times. At least they never let me make court appearances in clothes I'd ruined due to my laundry woes."
He'd been right on the cusp of touching her wrist just to get her to pause, but he was saved from the potentially awkward moment and gave her a crooked smile instead. "I'd say I'd teach you, and I'd really hope you'd accept, but it seems a little counterintuitive, all things considered. But I have to agree. I can't say I've felt all that comfortable with the social scene since I got here either—especially the mandatory fun. What would you be doing to unwind if you weren't here?"