She sat on the couch next to him, as he handed her a plate with the pizza already on it. On the end table, a glass of fire whiskey and sparkling water also waited for her. A plate of pizza rested on his own crossed knee, a couple of bites already taken out of it. He’d probably eat a single slice, simply because he was starving, but she knows he’d have preferred a nice roasted chicken. He easily could have ordered from a local restaurant, likely even at this hour. Instead, he’d bought pizza he didn’t really like because he knew she’d prefer it. 