Cook dinner for her

No, you decide. You can’t just let it lie.
“Ma’am, there’s no need to wear yourself out. I can cook for you after this stuff’s put away.”
Her thick brow furrows and she stumbles for one word or another.
“That’s very kind of you, sir, but… I can’t ask you to do that.”
“No trouble, I’ve been living on my own for a while now. If you got a recipe, I can follow it.”
“It’s not just that…” She looks away from you. “I’m… accustomed to some… generous servings… I don’t wanna make you stay that long just for a stranger.”
And what you basically knew the moment you laid eyes on her is confirmed: this woman is an unabashed, high-caliber glutton. You can only imagine how much delectable, fattening provender has been thrown into the bottomless pit of her stomach to make her so pendulously huge. Nevertheless, you shrug. “All due respect, I can tell you could use the help. And I’m in no hurry.”
Her round cheeks redden. She exhales a fluttering breath, a mix of worry and anticipation. “Well, if you insist… thank you. I’ll of course pay you for your time.”
“I do insist. But the pay won’t be necessary,” you say waving a hand. “Call this a favor.”
“Now that I have to insist on, sir…” she says looking you in the eyes. “But… well, I don’t suppose you’ll mind if we talk about it after dinner… I think I need to sit down. That notebook by the fridge has the recipe, crabmeat casserole.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“...My names’s Lola, by the way.” She says it with a slight, but genuine smile.
You return the expression. “Pleasure.”
Lola. Lola.
Lola waddles out of the kitchen, grabbing a couple swiss roll packets on the way out. A few moments later you hear the heavy wumph of some old, battlescarred piece of furniture receiving her bulk. Thus, you get to work, and upon seeing the recipe, you realize what exactly ‘work’ will mean. The recipe calls for grossly extravagant proportions of each ingredient, in fact, calling for two casserole dishes full for a single meal. All this casserole, overflowing with cheese and fat and carbs, that could last you the better part of a week, Lola was going to eat for one night’s dinner.
You get out the mixing bowl right away.
It’s not a terribly complex recipe, you quickly learn; even with the sheer amount of food you’re handling, Lola has the hardware necessary to process it all on hand. In fact, as you put the twin dishes in the oven, you find yourself with some forty-five minutes of nothing to do. And shortly, boredom begets boldness.
You’re already in this deep, anyway. Why not take it a little further?