The first thing he does is showers, shaves and brushes his teeth. He actually brushes his teeth twice - once before breakfast and once after - but he only counts it the first time. Occasionally he'll run a hand over his bald head and remember what he looked like when he had hair. Occasionally he'll miss it, but most of the time, he'll remember what Alicia says when she rubs his bald head and he doesn't care that Veronica sometimes leaves him brochures for the Hair Club for Men.

The second thing is getting dressed. It was easy when he was Sheriff. The uniform never changed, no matter what the crime. Now it's different and he likes to pretend he's a mix of Magnum and Rockford without the 70s lapels or the moustache. He'll mix it up every once in a while with his Columbo coat, but he's never been able to pull off a decent Peter Falk impression, so he usually only does it when it rains.

Breakfast is next. He eats breakfast every morning, not because he's been indoctrinated to believe it's the most important meal of the day, but because for the longest time it was the only normal portion of their day. He wanted Veronica to see that he loved her mom and she loved him and they both loved her and, for a long time, the only way to do that was with toast and OJ. Then Lianne started adding vodka to the OJ and then OJ to the vodka and by then it was all a lost cause anyway. He doesn't drink a lot of OJ any more, but he still has toast with his daughter.

He listens to the police scanner. He knows it's not his job anymore, but old habits die hard and he tells everyone that it's purely for business purposes. You never know where you're going to find a lead on the guy that's been missing for six years because he ran off with his 17-year-old secretary after embezzling everything his company ever made. Of course, it's Neptune, so he normally just hears that half of Veronica's friends have been reported doing illegal activities by the other half of Veronica's friends and he wonders if maybe he shouldn't be stricter with her, and then he remembers he really doesn't have a choice.

Coffee is always drunk on the stool opposite the small TV where Veronica watches the morning shows and makes fun of Matt Lauer's hair. He reminds her that maybe Matt wants to be taken as a serious journalist and not a pretty boy, to which she replies that if he wanted to be taken seriously, he'd have never gotten that haircut. He stirs his cream and sugar as his daughter pretends she's not dancing to whoever's performing in front of the sign-waving crowd, especially when it's someone beyond embarrassing, which is usually when she's having the most fun.

Alicia calls as soon as she gets to the office and they exchange pleasantries that, more and more, are becoming code words and euphemisms for the stuff they don't think they're quite ready to say yet. He's thought about it, and he thinks about it every morning, but he still just says he misses her and he hopes she has a good day. He knows there's not always time, but he also knows that it's not always the right time either.

He skims the paper, pointing out which of Veronica's friends are in the society column and which ones are in the arrest column and they both make fun of Sheriff Lamb. He's careful not to mention Leo's name anymore, and was very careful not to mention it when they were dating. He was a young cop once, and he's pretty sure that's the only reason Leo never tried anything.

His gun is always locked in the safe at night after he cleans it, and he pulls it out and inspects it carefully, just in case something might have happened during the night. It smells like oil and powder and he doesn't mistake it for the scent of power. He treats it with respect, but not fear and, so far, it's never let him down.

He watches Veronica as she stands in the bathroom door and brushes her hair. It's the one thing he does that he doesn't think she knows about, as he's pretty sure she'd be self-conscious if she did know. When she was little, she'd wait up when he worked late and would run to him with her hairbrush and settle down on the floor between his legs and let him brush the long, golden strands. He likes her new cut - he thinks it suits the new her - but he misses the long hair and the innocence that he thinks she cut herself off from when the scissors sliced through the locks.

When she comes out of the bathroom, he's on his second cup of coffee. He counts coffee twice because the second cup is different. The first has cream and sugar to soften the blow, but the second one is black and bitter. He tells Veronica it's to put hair on his chest and she tells him that it's obviously not putting it on his head and he reminds her that, occasionally, he's actually the parent in this scenario and she really should watch her mouth. Then she'll cross her eyes and try to see her mouth just like she did when she was seven. He reminds her that she's likely to get her face stuck that way, so she does it a moment longer and they both feign horror that it's finally happened. It makes the coffee sweeter every time.

When the cup is finished, he slides it into the sink and rinses it out. He sets it on the rack and turns, glad to see Veronica's face back to normal. He always says he's got to run, he always reminds he to be careful. He always ruffles her hair and he always kisses her cheek. And even if the rest of his morning falls apart and he rushes out the door without his coffee or his phone call or his Hawaiian print shirt, he always tells Veronica he loves her.