"Next one," Maggie promises, glancing back over her shoulder as she rummages through a cupboard. "Next one's got your name on it."

She can hear something in his voice, unless she's imagining it, that makes her think he'd inhale a pie nearly as fast as she did. After what he went through, she's not sure an entire Thanksgiving dinner would be enough reward. One little apple pie, she'll gladly pass his way.

As she pulls out a plate for each of them, she warns, "Better make your own sandwich. According to Enid, mine are turning into pregnant lady meals."

You eat dill pickles and peanut butter on wheat toast once...