"Well now, how am I suppose to seduce you now?" He asked, faking hurt as he gripped his chest. Roger pitched himself forward into the flat, stumbling slightly before regaining his balance.
Frowning, though he didn't mean it, he asked, "What is this? I have to help you cook? What kind of wife are you going to be, Stimpson?"
Yet, he was already standing before the chocolate, unwrapping it and trying not to eat it.