“Jesus, fuck. What is that smell?” Wes asks, scrunching his nose up. “Connor is cooking,” Archer says, his voice low and gruff from the couch. “That explains it,” Wes says, nodding. “Connor is right here, you imbeciles,” I say. “Connor is also referring to himself in third person,” Archer grumbles. “And I’m baking, not cooking. There’s a difference,” I say, ignoring him. “Right, one of them you’re actually slightly better at and the other…” He peers over at the tray of cookies. “...Not so much.”
