"And you'd probably waste away to two dimensions if you dared skip a meal," Theodore teased, giving her a quick, faux-assessing glance. It was a strangely familiar ritual, pretending to assume that Melinda was going to eat everything he didn't -- and then expressing polite surprise later when he found meals in his fridge. She seemed to have a knack for finding take-away he'd actually eat, and he had no desire to jinx his good fortune by assuming out loud that the extra was for him. It was funnier to imagine her packing away several meals' worth of food. She barely looked as though she could consume one.
He handed her a glass of wine, holding it carefully by the foot and stem so he wouldn't unduly warm the contents -- not that he had to worry; his hands were always cold.
"If you say so. I don't even like lugging my violin around." He opened up a few boxes and then shuffled in a drawer for a moment for a large spoon. His irritation was multi-layered, but he opted for the excuse that was most prominent in his thoughts. "I was unfortunate enough to have breakfast at the Leaky the morning it was attacked. You can imagine the authorities' suspicions." Theodore offered a wry smile to his plates.