He layered the noodles as she thought, as she remembered, and when she threw back the long sip of wine, he watched the column of her throat with appreciation. Silas enjoyed things. He enjoyed a good wine, and he enjoyed a good lasagna, and he enjoyed a beautiful woman across from him with her head tipped back, vulnerability bared, trust offered. "You've experience with grenades?" he asked, topping the lasagna off with cheese and then slipping it into the heated oven.
"Have you noticed any of them moving around when things act strangely here?" he asked, washing his hands and turning his attention completely to her now that the matter of prep work was completed. "And, perhaps, you could give me a bit more information about what happens?" He chuckled a little at himself. "You know, I've a policy of not becoming involved in things, and I'm failing spectacularly." He lifted his wine glass to her. "I've decided you're to blame for this." He grinned. "And perhaps that dress as well."