"Love is never tidy," the woman breathed, leaning close to him. "Not when it is worthwhile. Love is always a beautiful, beautiful mess."
Marc, more embarrassed than enthralled at this invitation to amour among the foodstuffs, was not aware that Toffee had paused in her conversation with the waiter and fastened her eyes with brooding hostility to the back of his neck.
"And now," the French temptress was saying, "the monsieur will part the beautiful lips so Lisa can give him the food of love."
"Oh, yeah?" Toffee put in hotly from across the table. "If the monsieur parts the beautiful lips Toffee will part his teeth for him!"
Marc started guiltily. "Now, Toffee...!"
"Stand back from that French pastry, you philandering gourmet!" Toffee said, getting up from her chair. "When I get through with her there's going to be a lot more broken than just her speech!"
"She's only feeding me!" Marc said.
"Yeah," Toffee sneered. "The food of love. I heard her." She swung toward the woman. "I'm the dietitian around here, honey, and don't you forget it."
"I only show the monsieur how she is done in the old country."
"Well," Toffee said, "get a load of how she's done in the new one. Prepare yourself to get fractured, you Parisian petunia!"