She huffs a little, displeased at his answer, but not so much that she wants to make a stink about it.

'Tell you what. I won't dictate what goes in your mouth, and you don't dictate what goes in mine, and everyone will be happier in the long run.'

Save for the fact that she hates the smell of smoke in everything. Maybe there's some sort of super advanced air freshener she can order up from the bar. She makes a mental note to look into it later.

In the meantime, she snags a chip off his plate and offers it to him, batting her long eyelashes at him.

'You're right. It's not as romantic as peeled grapes.'

But it suits them, and she's fine with that. More than fine.