She can't help but smile when she sees him in that apron. It had been an impulsive purchase on a shopping trip with Saoirse a couple of weeks ago, the both of them giggling when they picked it out. He'd turned a very rewarding shade of pink when they'd presented it to him, though it hadn't taken as much wheedling to get him into it as she thought it would. (Perhaps because, so soon after those awful visions had ended, they'd all been in the market for a little levity.)

"If it isn't Mister Good Lookin'," she says with feigned surprise, lifting a hand to her chest as if to recover herself. A bit more levity won't hurt. "And here I am, all a mess."

That is only half a joke. She's always a bit frazzled after a day's filming, and if he looks closely, it's not hard to tell she's been crying. She couldn't really help it; everyone else had been crying and hugging her and so on, and it had been a beastly challenge, besides. She thinks she would have wept even if she hadn't been eliminated, just because they'd all needed to.