"You set the bananas on fire?"
"It...was not my fault."
"Please, regale me."
"Well, no offense, my dear, but your recipe was very boring—"
"I told you to make a banana split, Naveen."
"—so I spiced it up a little. With rum."
"It was for your little brother."
"Exactly. And being the responsible brother I am, I went to cook the alcohol out after realizing I'd put too much in."
"Too....?" She gives up, starts over. "Why didn't you get fresh bananas?"
"Because that's wasteful. As I said, I'm responsible. May I continue?"
"Oh, Mr. Resourceful, please do."
"Thank you." He either doesn't notice her sarcasm or ignores it. She suspects the latter. "So I'm cooking out the alcohol, and I must've got too close with my cigarette—"
She gasps, hopes he doesn't hear. Or maybe she hopes he does. "How is this not your fault, again?"
"—because the whole thing went up in flames! See?" He waves a hand at his missing eyebrows and sounds like he's saved orphans from a burning building. "So I put the lid on the pan to stop the fire—I'm resourceful, as you say—and here we are."
"I never should've taken you off mincing detail. How could you ruin ice cream?"
"Ruin it?" He sounds offended, as if he has a right to be. "It's delicious!"
"You ate it?"
"Of course! Well, tasted it, anyway. Try some, Tiana."
She looks at the brown, bubbly mess as if it'll eat her instead, and thinks of the last time she was asked to put her mouth on something disgusting-looking. After a moment, she takes a bite.
"It's the greatest thing you've eaten in your life, no?"
"No." It needs...something hearty, more bite. Brown sugar, maybe. And cinnamon. Then this mess wouldn't be half bad. It might be almost as good as her beignets—or, perhaps, even better.
Not that she would tell him that, of course.