It was a name that sounded vaguely familiar, but in a rather common way that didn't cause her to question it. She was never particularly good with remembering names, about as awful as she was at remembering the faces that matched them. Yet Mitchell was proving himself not to be that common of a man. The refrigerator empty other than a collection of leftover takeout boxes seemed typical of a bachelor, and it wasn't all that surprising that the cabinets weren't well stocked either. But it was just as well, because she was wanting to learn how to cook more than omelets and it would be an easier task if his presence wasn't dominating the kitchen space.
What wasn't typical, however, were the eyeballs in the microwave. After a startled gasp, Mabel pulled the jar out and scrutinized it at eye-level, the tip of her nose pressed to the glass. "These are real," she observed while side-glancing him with the same scrutiny, "I'm hoping this isn't your idea of dinner."