"Clams remind me of home," Rapunzel says, and it's clear by her tone that she doesn't necessarily consider that a good thing. "Gothel would bring back buckets of them."

She wrinkles her nose at the memory of cleaning them, slicing her hands on the shells only to watch the cuts heal over, and then looks up at Keys again. "I don't mind them, but I'm fine with skipping them, too. What about something with chicken?"

Their server comes over and brings warm bread and butter, and Rapunzel slides the wine list over to Keys to let him order.