That particular outrage against southern cooking distracts him, and carries him through breakfast, where he does his level best to introduce her to and convince her of the superiority of the foods from his youth. Grits are, perhaps, a hard sell, but buttery, nutty, fluffy, syrup-drenched pancakes would win the heart of the hardest skeptic, and paired with sweet, mildly tangy grapefruit from Florida? Angels couldn't ask for better.

Breakfast is still something of a painful affair, despite the distraction - he can't quite figure out what happened up in the room, for the life of him, and it doesn't help he can't quite keep from blushing every time he reaches for the syrup.