"Good. I look forward to meeting her, then," he says, nodding. And that's all he'll say on that.

"Which is all of them," he says, scoffing. "Honestly, I have eaten more in the past three weeks than I have in a year. The fairer sex must be built for clucking; they seem to be so fond of it."

Save one, his brain reminds him, and kindles a little fire in his cheeks. Punie.

The last bite of his eggs isn't sour at all.