Yeah, definitely. [He nods willingly, then huffs a breath of wry self-awareness.] Maybe it's just me--[Doubtful.]--but I've done enough thinking about where we've been before already, tonight. Hang on, though.

[Dave lets go of her hand for a moment so he can test a drop of the milk against the back of his hand. Oh, ow, hot enough, yeah. He licks it and reaches up for where the shaved chocolate's stored--because if there's anything Dave's learned to appreciate over the last year and a half with her, with people who understand that food's not just a vehicle for calories, but an art, something that is allowed to be good, it's how to be fucking decadent when the situation calls for it--and starts stirring it into the milk.]

Marshmallow in yours?

[Why does Victorian Nowheresville have marshmallows, he does not understand.]