She doesn't particularly, but he does or he wouldn't have asked; wouldn't have suggested it. And she doesn't not want to, does want to be close, does want to do what he wants to do, so she nods.

"Okay." She's full now, anyway, and there's nothing like a good lounge to digest. She curls her fingers around his, squeezes once herself and then pulls their hands off the counter. "Couch? Or bed?"