[It takes him a while to get out of bed after waking, the same reality striking him at one glance at his wrist. Memories of the night before flood in without the excuse of a hangover to make a little more sense of things. The most troubling part is recalling the feeling he felt, even if it no longer lingers.
He dresses, buttoning an untucked shirt while leaving the bedroom. The look he gives her is one wondering why she's still here, why she'd want to be, and a flighty glance that is curiously ensuring that strong attraction had indeed faded.] Good morning.
[Still looking at her, then down at the table.] No kitchen of mine's ever smelled this good.