[she says it's fine but there's no hiding the pleasant reaction in one's face after consuming something delicious. he hears her drink it down before looking at her pointedly, hardly going out of his way to hide a satisfied tick up of his lips.]

I've been gifted with a very unique sense of smell, but you should always cut into its center to be sure there isn't any pink left inside.

[chicken now being transferred to cutting board and then eggs to hot pan with butter. all those prepped ingredients are poured to the pan as well, adding depth and color. this is the quicker end of the preparation and he glides through it, cutting and shredding the steaming chicken before adding it into the omelet. he makes it look easy, as easy as breathing; a second nature.

soon it's all finally looking together and he is arranging the meal on a plate as a chef would a fine dining restaurant. garnished with a freshly picked wildflower and salsa (minus the quail egg) he's bringing the plates to the dining room to be set. all silverware is placed (rather perfectly) and he urges her to sit down, pulling out a chair for her, because ladies first.]

Bon apétit.

[there's an interesting painting that she'll likely notice when guided to sit.]