"Should I start calling you Remy?" she asked in a horribly faked French accent. "I will straight up marry you if you put a melty fudgy bit in the middle of my souffle."

Then she looked away from him because she was certain another serious bout of blushing was about to come on. She started chunking up pieces of bacon by snapping it between her fingers. "Perfection!" she said in a joyful singsong. "There is no such thing as leftover bits. We can't leave any evidence."