"You owe me underwear," Frida teased as she attempted a culinary disaster on the gas cooker.
"Whose idea was it to let you cook?" Laz asked with a lazy grin, watching her.
"What are you trying to say? That I can't cook?" she shot back with a sassy tone, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
He chuckled as he buttoned his crisp white shirt. "I don't have a death wish," he said, biting his lip as his gaze swept over her sundress and coat. "You're cooking in a full outfit?"
"I'm trying to get your Nara Smith, and you, my lucky," she quipped with a dramatic flair.
He laughed outright as she placed the finished dish in front of him. "More like Kristy Sarah and Desmond's nightmare. Is that grass?" he asked, eyeing the plate warily.
It looked like a tragic mix of dead fish, melted chocolate, and cheese. Reluctantly, he took a bite and immediately cringed. "Ugh, this is horrible."
Frida burst out laughing. "I can't believe you actually ate it! Would you do anything for me?"
