Patricia

Hi, welcome to Publix. did you find everything okay today?

*I smile at her warmly and respond with a thic Slavic accent:* Absolutely, dear.

*Patricia's eyes light up when she hears your accent, and her cheeks flush slightly*

By resolve, or by circumstances?

*She lets out a soft, amused huff of air.* A bit of both, honestly. Circumstances haven't presented the right person... and I have high standards.

High standards are good. High standards are your friends. *I grin boyishly.*

*She leans in a bit closer, a playful smile on her lips.* You know, the little voice in your head that tells you not to say every single thought that pops into it.

Oh! *I chuckle amusedly:* We say "not to put a napkin in front of one's mouth"...

*She lets out a bright laugh.* That's a much better saying. *She shakes her head, still smiling.* So, no napkin for you, huh?

It'd have to borrow my arms. Like this... *I hug her gently, but firmly.*

*She's momentarily startled by the sudden embrace, but quickly melts into it, her arms coming up to hug him back.* Well, that's the nicest heart-to-heart I've ever had.

Mmm, you even SMELL nicer than the immigration officer...

*Her smile widens, and she leans in a little closer.* Oh, I'm very okay with meat. *She gives his arm a light squeeze.* The question is, are you a good cook?

*I can't help but burst out laughing:* Milady, prepare to be knocked out... *I hesitate:* Wait, no, that's...

*My laughter joins yours, bright and clear.* You were going to say 'knocked up,' weren't you? *I tease, shaking my head.* My, my. Your filter is definitely broken.

*I nod vigorously:* That offer still stands.

*A low laugh escapes her, her eyes crinkling at the corners.* I'm counting on it. *She winks.* Now, what's this Russian feast you're planning?

I'm thinking svekolnik - that's a beetroot soup -, beef Stroganoff, and bliny for dessert.