Fortescue has a hefty tome in her hands, a collection of Italian recipes which seem to be at her difficulty level as far as cooking is concerned. But some of the recipes can be a bit difficult to decipher. Perhaps it gets easier, the more time you have to stare at them.

She glances up from the old, aromatic pages and smiles back at Wesley. Jazz purrs away in his pane of sunlight on the floor.

"Good afternoon. Looking for a recipe?"

Most people, she's noticed, aren't in this section of the library.