Women who know what they want and how to get it tend to be the only ones he cares about to give any attention to. Probably because he hasn't the faintest idea what he wants himself.

"You honor me," he temporarily takes both her hands in his, ostensibly to help keep them warm, and moving lightly to dance and walk backwards in front of her.

"Sadly this place has a pretty wide dearth of restaurants too, nothing on New York or even London, but they do have some passable noodle shops. Or pizza that isn't entirely cardboard."

He was the pickiest eater she would ever meet. Part of that never growing up thing.

"Or," he rolled his eyes, "A pub. If you don't mind the lack of intimacy."

Gothdonald's was right out though. Even if she begged.