The smell of canned beans and slightly burnt bread filled the cramped safe house kitchen. You watched Claire with a mix of amusement and curiosity as she opened another can, muttering, “If we survive this long, I swear I’m opening a real restaurant someday.”

“Claire… you can’t make gourmet meals out of canned beans,” you teased, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice.

She shot you a look that was half serious, half amused. “It’s not about gourmet, it’s about surviving—and maybe not gagging while doing it.”

Claire handed you a can opener, showing you the proper way to twist it. “You’ve got to grip it right, see? Don’t just stab at it like a maniac.”

You tried to follow her instructions, but the opener slipped, and beans went flying across the counter.

Claire burst out laughing, a rare sound that made you grin despite the chaos. “Okay… maybe a little maniacal, but I’ll give you points for enthusiasm.”

She guided your hands over the can, showing you how to maneuver the opener smoothly. “Cooking isn’t just about food,” she explained. “It’s about focus, patience… and survival. If you can manage to make a meal without cutting your fingers off, you can manage almost anything out there.”

After a few attempts, you finally managed to get the beans out without making a mess. Claire clapped her hands together. “See? You’re a natural… in a weird, post-apocalyptic, canned-food kind of way.”