"Well, you are very pretty, I will admit that much. I suppose that will do, for now."

"Ha! I win."

"Technically, yes! Your prize is nothing."

"No? I suppose demanding a forfeit would also be recycling tactics, wouldn't it? I'll figure it out."

"Demanding a forfeit on a barely defined contest with no explicit terms would be dishonorable anyway. If we are to duel, let it at least be correct."

"You are, of course, completely right." Pete is going to now turn off the little machine in his head that provides innuendos because these people just keep giving him openings and he needs to have literally any other means of interaction with the world. "So, back on the original subject, I am kind of curious about these seven mysteries, that seems like a fun subplot to chase down."

"Don't they! I intend to badger Monika into giving me the story - she is my editor - and once I do, I will pursue them with all of my not inconsiderable ability. Are you interested in joining the paper, by the way? I can always use an assistant, my powers of perception are exceptional but my copy is not always as clean as one might prefer."

"I'm sure I can fit it into my extremely busy schedule." He's not looking at the camera and winking right now but that is very much the thing he's not doing, is looking at the camera and winking. "Sounds fun, I'm in."

"Excellent. I will work you to the very bone."

"You have got to be doing this on purpose," he grumbles.

"You will never know!"

Oh but he is pretty sure he does, now.

Dinner continues with the same ratio of banter to flirting to conversation displayed onscreen, if not as many individually salient relationship development scenes. Other people join them for much of it, and those interactions, too, are similar in character—Pete is not a named character snob, and he will banter and/or flirt with people even if they have not been singled out by the narrative as important to his story. If nothing else, they have their own stories going on, and he would like to be a quirky side character in many of those.

And eventually they are done.

And they can go to the café!

Before they reach it, though, Edmund clears his throat. "Did you actually eat, as in, experience consuming, any food during that entire meal? Because it didn't happen while I was looking, your plate just got less and less populated."

"Oh, you know, the narration wasn't so preoccupied with it. It must have happened, right?"

"Oh, don't condescend. What I'm asking is, do you actually need or want to eat. If we go for cake and tea are you going to consume any."

"—sorry, I didn't mean to sound condescending, just cheeky. And also, uh, a little bit literal. I... think I don't, strictly speeking, need to eat in order to survive. And I mostly don't like having to eat, and I don't have much of a sweet tooth, but I do have the ability and desire to eat nice things. And whatever happened at dinner did count as eating to whatever extent I do still need it."

"Alright. Sorry for snapping, just - I was worried that we were about to have a date wherein I had cake and you just sort of sat there, getting nothing out of it except chewing sounds. Which doesn't exactly sound equitable."

"Oh. No, yeah, that would be awkward and creepy and unless I am specifically going for that that shouldn't happen. In general."

"Sure. Let's go with that. Do you want cake? They've got other options, I like their fruit-and-custard tart and there's this Baileys-flavored gelato. Or we could even just have tea, if you don't have a sweet tooth at all."

"I am American and I shall not have any tea. Gelato sounds great, though."

"You're American! You've never had good tea! You're telling me you're not even going to try it?"

"...I confess it's news to me that there was actually a difference. Now I'm curious."

"Good, because if you weren't I was going to hit you over the head and get a funnel. Hmm... I'm going to say some words and I want you to pick between them. Fruit, flowers, spice... lawn clippings but oddly satisfying?"

"....f...ruit?"

"Grand!"

They arrive at the café. Edmund approaches the counter.

"One fruit tart, one Baileys gelato, and a pot of the black cherry blackberry black," Edmund says, removing his wallet from his pocket.

The barista raises her eyebrow. "Usually I have to make people say that one that fast."

"I have patronized this establishment before."