Finn smiles, sharing the warmth of that particular memory, for all that it was less complicated and maybe a little hazier for him, having been so young at the time. That had it’s own comfort too…he couldn’t remember a time when Jake and their mom hadn’t cooked together. It felt like something that always was.

“Jake loves trying new recipes, experimenting and stuff like that,” he says, sticking his fork into a thick, soft piece of french toast. He takes a big bite, sure before he even tastes it that he knew exactly what it would be. “But he always says mom’s are the ones he comes back to.”