It's barely contact, just her heel resting against the leather of his boot, but it's something, and he doesn't pull away. "Yeah," he says, nodding, his hair tumbling across his forehead. He lifts one hand to push it back. "Fettucine is good. And maybe. Hm. Vongole is good? It's clams in white wine and tomato? Or we could do like...a meat entree, maybe?"