While she worked on setting the table, Rigby grabbed the chicken and the salad, which he'd washed and put in a bowl along with the extra veggies he'd gotten for it. The only thing he'd forgotten was the dressing, but there were a few bottles he'd found in her fridge. "Looks like we're gettin' either ranch or... thousand island," he said, double checking the labels before setting them on the table too. "Nice song, by the way."
Rigby just shrugged. "Ain't my key, it's yours." And he left it at that, knowing she was confused, but it was hard to explain. Having his own key almost meant he was living here, which implied more than either of them were ready for. "Don't want to be oversteppin' no boundaries," he said, "not 'til we get to that point. Your key, you keep it, and I'll use it when I need it."