"Don't be like that," he mutters at the joke, embarrassed enough to be a little bit cross, though actually, honestly, he means that as a compliment, because she looks fine, even if it doesn't really sound like one. And actually isn't one in any meaningful way. But he meant well. He's just terrible at this, whatever this is, because he's still not sure. I didn't mind isn't exactly a rave review, not that he can blame her for it.

She hasn't let him go, though, which is settling his nerves a little bit. It's not just the proximity, or the touch, but the decisiveness. Someone's got to take charge here and Lord knows he's not doing a good job of it.

But he looks down, and he presses his luck, setting his free hand on her arm, almost mirroring her grasp on his. He's not leaning in again, but it's at least a reassurance that he's not going to bolt.