Inwardly he'd applauded her tour de force performance in the I Can Play It Straight Faced When I Wanna cinema at the park. It was even more admirable when she'd gracefully opted out of her ridiculously complex drink -- was that even a drink? -- with lovely shift of her Argos posture, a less difficult drink, and of course, the reminder of cake.
"So basically what you're saying is that you--" one lightning strike of a brow arch before it faded into the static of oblivion to emphasize the forthcoming word in italics. "didn't note the economical value of an Americano, but rather seek to confuse and bewilder me with your strange Kansasian sugardaddy drinks full of mocha and rocks?" he paused. "And half of a baby cow?"
That one was allowed to simmer between them momentarily like the brown butter mixture of mizithra and noodles that Homer would slurp while composing the Iliad.
"Cake and a Kansas special comin' right up." you better believe he was going to remember that entire thing if it killed him to. Not just because he liked being impressive, but because not only had she asked for it -- he wanted to know if it existed and if so, what it looked like.