Megan shrugged.

“Easy,” she said. “My kitchen.”

Annie flapped a dismissive hand in the air.

“Come on, be serious,” she urged. “I’m asking as somebody who had hopes of being the first woman colonist on Mars.”

Megan shrugged again.

“I’m completely serious,” she said. “I like to cook.”

“Cook . . .”

“And bake.”

“Bake . . .”

“European pastries, especially croissants,” Megan said, gulping more ouzo. Her voice was a little dreamy. “Maybe because making the crusts is such a challenge. About two years ago I had the kitchen professionally re-modeled with all commercial appliances. My range is the best. It’s one of those great big stainless-steel jobs . . . dual-fuel, you know. Six gas burners, an electric oven that keeps the temperature right where you set it.”

Annie looked at her a moment. Then she suddenly ducked her head, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Megan leaned forward. The damn ouzo, she thought guiltily. There were more than a few staffers who could down it like lemonade without showing any effects, but poor Annie was a vacationer, only a few hours out of a helicopter from Amundsen-Scott. How could Megan have even considered suggesting that she order it?

“Annie, what’s wrong? If this poison’s getting to you—”

Annie shook her head in the negative, keeping it bent, still covering her mouth.

Megan’s eyes widened at the stifled sound that escaped Annie’s lips.

“My God,”she said. “You’re laughing.”

That was the final straw. Annie giggled helplessly, struggled to compose herself, and laughed even harder.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Really, I hope you aren’t insulted—”

It was a no-go. She broke up again.

Meg looked at her.

“Okay,” Megan said. “Out with it. What’s so funny about my domestic interests?”

Annie waited until she’d managed to catch her breath.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Picturing you in a kitchen apron sort of caught me by surprise.” Annie wiped her eyes. “I just had the impression you’d yearn for Bay Area shopping or nightlife or something . . . that you’d prefer to get your desserts from a gourmet shop instead of a cookie sheet.”

Megan realized she’d split a grin of her own.

“I’m not sure why, but something tells me I should be offended by that characterization,” she said.

“Probably should,” Annie said. “I would be, come to think of it.”

The women faced each other, both of them laughing now.

“Annie,” Megan said, “I’ve told you before and I’ll do it again . . . your visit’s been a major reprieve. This ladies’ night out most of all.”

Annie nodded, reached for her glass.

“I think we should drink to taking the big step,” she said.

“From colleagues to friends?”

“In one drunken toot.”