It was becoming obvious that he didn't know nearly as much about her as he thought. She was brave, but not outgoing. Guarded but more than willing to open herself given the right atmosphere. This was someone he'd gone to school with, practiced with, and he felt more like a stranger he bumped into outside of a bookstore.
He continued to listen while he parsed out how that made him feel. A stoic, silence washing over his face. Then the food arrived, and though Etta was smiling he couldn't help but wonder if she had many other people to talk to about this. Everyone talks about sports. Not everyone can talk about death as though it was merely someone you passed on the street.
He took a large bite out of the pickle spear that hid underneath his pub chips. "Thank you for sharing that with me." He offered after swallowing. There wasn't anything more he could say on the subject of her job that didn't make him sound like he was trying too hard.
The pickle was gone in another few bites and he turned to his sandwich. He'd leave the chips for now.