"To weed them, actually," Larry replied from where he'd stopped a few feet away, hands covered in dirt-smudged work gloves, his head tilted with mild curiosity. There was something entirely too familiar about the hunch of this girl's shoulders, of the wary flick of sharp eyes completely in contrast with the softness of her voice.

He really ought to have walked off right then, but Larry had never been terribly smart about these things.

"You're a little big to be making mud pies," he pointed out, squinting against the afternoon sun.