She watched him a long moment at that, taking in the set of his jaw, the cross of his arms. It was a pose all too familiar.

In some ways men really were so alike.

Shifting away, she slipped towards the cupboard, reaching up again for a glass. The refrigerator door opened and shut; she poured a measure of creamy, white liquid into a glass before she returned to him, placing the glass down near his elbow.

"The rice kills the taste," she said again, crossing her arms against the counter, looking upward at him half-through her lashes. "So does milk."

More quietly, "I can see we're going to have to be a little more careful about teasing each other." A pause. "Though, for the record, you led yourself into that one."

No judgement in the words -- just statement of fact.