"Of course you don't," she says with a wry smirk in his direction. She leaves him be until they've reached the little store; stepping in, she nods hello to the man at the register and proceeds directly to the wall of cheap liquor at the back.

"Pick your poison, I'll pick a flick," she says easily. There's a conveniently located rack of even cheaper DVDs. She flips through them, eyeing the bland-looking romantic comedies with disdain, until she finds precisely what she's looking for.

She grabs a jar of olives and proceeds to the counter.