"My own pickles," he repeats curiously, peering into the bags she brought once again. His mother hardly ever cooked anything in their kitchen. Nothing edible anyway. Spells, yes. Food, no. Not only does look just like Rosalie Parker, but he learned his culinary prowess from her too.

"Oh my god, eggs sound so good right now." He takes a seat on one of the bar stools he has near his counter, opposite where she's standing. He could go put on normal clothes, but he much prefers his pajamas. He looks around at all the items spread out over his kitchen suddenly. "How do you even know all this?" he asks somewhat amazed. And to him maybe it is...like his potions and spells are to her.