He rubs at his eyes and looks over at her. Why is she smiling? Why can't she ever smile like that when he does something nice for her?

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, tone as impossibly dry as it is exhausted. It probably won't change anything, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't like making her smile like that. His free hand flops against the arm of her chair as he cranes back his neck to look her in the eye just about the laziest way he can. "Don't be surprised if Kamala doesn't like you skipping dinner." She's been looking forward to this all week.