At first, Connor was pathetically aware of her watching him. It would be just his luck to offer to make dinner for someone and cut his thumb off. Especially when half the complex was in rare form and didn't need another emergency on their hands. But once he got into the rhythm of cooking, he didn't need to worry, really. Frankly, it was something he was pretty good at. It was mostly following directions. Connor looked at cooking like a science project. And that, he was very good at.
"Yeah, that's him," he agreed when she pointed out the very goofy looking Russell. "He's an English actor, married to an American singer. I admit, no one thought it would last a week, but they're pretty good together I guess." He shrugged and gave the pot with the noodles another stir. So far so good. Just needed the cheese to melt a little more and he'd be golden. If he set the apartment complex on fire, he'd never forgive himself. And probably never live it down. And, likely, in her position, he'd probably kill her, too. Not the best way to make new friends.
What did he do back home? Why was that so hard to answer? Most people could pop off what they did with no questions. Him? Not quite. But he'd told Isabel. Though that had been a little different. "Well..." He put the spoon to the side and turned to face her, leaning against the counter. Crossing his arms in front of him, he tried to look a lot tougher than he actually felt. "I work for the government. Special projects."
Which sounded a whole lot more impressive than it actually was. Okay, no, that wasn't true. His job was damn impressive, if he was being honest with himself. And, despite a few mishaps, he was good at it. But he'd sound completely crazy. Even to a girl who had Death following her around like a lost puppy.