"Loads," he murmurs, hand stirring gently against the warm curve of her jaw. "Wondering about your dad's crepe recipe. Which of the boxes is likely to have the best view. When I'll see you next after this. Whether I ought to put something up on the blog to address the whole photo thing."

It'd likely just be a short statement--yes, I have a regular ballet date, she's tremendously intelligent, I will consider any harassment of her carte blanche to make your life a total hell--but he's not sure, yet, if it's either necessary or something she'll object to.