“Not unless we absolutely have to,” he admits. “The smell would put a damper on the rest of the plans.”

Socially oblivious as he is, even he knows that most places can and will kick you out if you stink of formaldehyde. Plus with the way this day is planned they won’t have much time to head home and change if there’s a chemical mishap of some sort.

He’s momentarily, pleasantly distracted by the sight of her bending over the box to retrieve the case of instruments.

“New jeans,” he observes approvingly, before he can stop himself.