"Well, I'm a very friendly drunk, I warn you." And it would be so much nicer to be friendly sober...of course he didn't say that part out loud.
"Would you show me some of your photographs, some time?" He remembered the few that she had enclosed with her letters, but he wasn't even sure she had taken any of those--obviously not the one of her with her family, the one that she was in. Maybe the one of their home in France had been hers; he had liked that one, an early-morning shot where everything looked tranquil and sleepy; the occasional bird flew past, and the only other movement was a slight wind through the grass. "Did you take the one of your house?" He had it in the top of his desk drawer, so he could peek at it when he was frustrated; a little bit of zen in his workday. But that might sound creepy, so he kept that to himself as well.