Mmm well the egg juggling is hard to ignore, as are her food suggestions, because those actually have considerable potential, honestly. Death by Chocolate? Broke. Everyone has that. He wouldn't be caught dead ordering it. Chocolate Cake of Holding? Woke, next level, put that on the list forthfuckinwith.

He doesn't intend to ignore her invitation, either. It's the same kind of bafflingly charming as her bag of nonsense he's going to get roped into ooh'ing and aah'ing politely over later. It's not unreasonable in the slightest. He almost joked about the couchsurfing he'd have to do if he fell from grace over frito-frosting based snack inventions, just a minute ago.

He just doesn't. It's not. He gathers bowl and whisk in a daze, puts them on her part of the counter because obviously the breaking and stirring is the fun part. And the eggs will be better for having sat a bit while they chop.

"Yeah, alright. Might-- Dunno when schedules will, you know, line up," he hedges, but not insincerely. People who think space missions are hard to schedule around have never worked in a kitchen. He doesn't want to get her hopes up, and doesn't want to examine that in the slightest. "But I'll definitely take you up on that. I mean, eating food I didn't have to make? Shit, where do I sign."