"I'd bet they're a lot more pleasant than the stories I could share." Said she, the gloomy truth of a statement like that lace wearing heavy as leather. It however hadn't brought down the light way in which he was artfully maneuvering the nice mood of their estranged snack. And she, as silently promised earlier by just obeying eyes, began to tear the sandwich in half. She preferred going straight for the heart, no loitering around the edges.
"Like the story of why you wanted to even talk to me again. You can tell me that one, can't you?" She asked in a faint, shadowy way as she bit into the centerpiece of the grilled cheese--the tomato. The heart.