"Twenty-nine." Ned slides the bright green pie into the oven, sets about wiping off the various kitchen surfaces. He wonders, for the first time, what is driving these questions of Meyer's. Is he perhaps wondering how a man of his age ends up with no connections to speak of? It certainly doesn't reflect well, he knows that. Has a bit of a serial killer-ish vibe to it. Lived alone, kept to himself, never would have suspected...

He's still full of productive energy, doesn't want to stop working, so he washes his paring knife and comes to join Meyer with a clean glass mixing bowl and, a moment later, a rather large basket of perfectly ripe strawberries. He sits down and starts trimming off the stems and cutting them into quarters, the movements as practiced and effortless as ever.

"Why do I get the weird feeling you're about to try to set me up with someone?" he jokes. He knows that in actuality Meyer intends nothing of the kind.