A small degree of the tension that crept into his shoulders after he made his offer abates. Nothing too bad, there. Nothing he can't answer. Some of them are even interesting questions, but he isn't surprised by that. Interesting people ask interesting questions.
"24, turning 25 in November, so I'm a year older than you. I'm from a tiny town called Coeur d'Coeurs, originally. Nowhere near here and nowhere you'd have heard of. Favorite color is... green, I suppose."
Here the answers get a bit stickier, and he conveniently has to tend to the omelettes closely for a few seconds while he settles on what he'll say, "I don't remember what the first pie I ever made was, it's too long ago. As for the cake thing, I'm assuming you're looking for an answer other than pie is infinitely superior cake, thanks very much?" He turns a quick grin on Ginsberg. "Besides, technically, it's not like I can't make cake. I can. I went to pastry school, so I can make pretty much anything."
Ned folds the first omelette over on itself, flips it in the pan with ease. His reasons for being the pie guy are, though there's no way Ginsberg could know it, deeply intimate, so he settles on a fraction of the truth. "Pie's my favourite, and it's what I was always used to."
He slides Ginsberg's omelette onto a plate, offers it to him with a look of playfully deep contemplation, "Anyone in the world?" He thinks of various celebrities, dignitaries, but none of them is really the truth. A faint blush creeps across his cheeks and he says, "You. Sometime in the future. Because it'd mean seeing you again. Which I'd like. A lot."
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"24, turning 25 in November, so I'm a year older than you. I'm from a tiny town called Coeur d'Coeurs, originally. Nowhere near here and nowhere you'd have heard of. Favorite color is... green, I suppose."
Here the answers get a bit stickier, and he conveniently has to tend to the omelettes closely for a few seconds while he settles on what he'll say, "I don't remember what the first pie I ever made was, it's too long ago. As for the cake thing, I'm assuming you're looking for an answer other than pie is infinitely superior cake, thanks very much?" He turns a quick grin on Ginsberg. "Besides, technically, it's not like I can't make cake. I can. I went to pastry school, so I can make pretty much anything."
Ned folds the first omelette over on itself, flips it in the pan with ease. His reasons for being the pie guy are, though there's no way Ginsberg could know it, deeply intimate, so he settles on a fraction of the truth. "Pie's my favourite, and it's what I was always used to."
He slides Ginsberg's omelette onto a plate, offers it to him with a look of playfully deep contemplation, "Anyone in the world?" He thinks of various celebrities, dignitaries, but none of them is really the truth. A faint blush creeps across his cheeks and he says, "You. Sometime in the future. Because it'd mean seeing you again. Which I'd like. A lot."