His shoulders visibly slumped when she said that, when she actually acknowledged what he was doing. Well, it wouldn't work now. He didn't want to talk about it, because he was like, paralyzingly afraid that she didn't want to be with him anymore, if her viciousness toward him last night was any indication. Sure, he'd been a dick, but he had explained to her about his thing with food, his connection to cooking for somebody and family. So he had felt justified, ridiculously irrational or not.

He took some small comfort in the fact that Paradisa apparently didn't honor divorce, but that didn't mean she couldn't want a separation.

"I don't really know what you want from me," he said quietly, going back to frying this egg. "You already said you like, blame me for everything. So."

He paused, turning the egg over, then added: "I'm sorry I socked you in the face, if that helps."