"Well, forgive me for not jumping gung-ho into everything," she says with a little half-sniff, and adjusts her sleeves. But it's the crawfish comment that gets her. Her smile sours to a thin line, and she stands up a little straighter (now at only 167). "I ordered them from a trusted shop in the French Quarter," she says as archly as a seventeen-year-old can. Which, all things considered, just comes out more primly than anything. Short girl with fluctuating weight standing up against an over-six-foot man who Wasn't Having It? Caroline isn't nearly as successful as she might have hoped, but she manages to bite back some retort about stealing food that may or may not have gotten her slapped.

She glances down at the gumbo he's making, and judging by the color and density, she can assess what stage of cooking he's at pretty well. Still, she puts a hand on her hip (very fierce, she knows) and asks anyway: "So how long you gonna be in here, sugar? I have to cook a couple meals for tonight."