What, your intern didn't think you were cool enough to teach?

I'm late, but I heard 'pie'.

I will never not be hungry for pie.

Watching Superman trying to apologize on behalf of Batman is a sport in itself.

Or second impression. Or third impression. You, on the other hand....

Oh?

..... Clark. Come here.

This man calls me pretty every single day.

DRAGGING.

I’ve got you.

It helps me carry on.

That's only part of the equation. The other part is to knock the name plate that says "Clark Kent".

Flicks it back down with a singular finger. “I can stop knocking it over. For a fee.”

“Dinner on the outdoor patio at our bar.” Slow smile at him. “When your schedule allows, of course.”

Her eyes light up at the second prospect. “Well, Mr. Kent, if you don't mind the windblown look...”

His bumbling makes her laugh. She sets a hand on his forearm to steady him. “When are we going?”

If she perks up any more she'll be flying herself. She goes for the stairwell without another word, rapid heel clicks echoing.

“I don't trust anybody who doesn't like pasta. Hey, big guy.” Her arms are reaching upward to link around the back of his strong neck.