[Hank squints at him. Bits of asparagus stuck to the corner of his mouth.]

So you’re... what? Gonna have a single sip? Not gonna chug the whole bottle?

[Like how Hank does. And he looks down at his plate guiltily: all the food. The arrangement of it. Hank would just pile everything onto a plate and call it a day.]

It’s good, Connor. Real good. Thank you.