Neville wanted to wind his hands into Hannah's hair and go on kissing her, but they were in public, and were meant to have dinner and drink wine and be sociable.
"I'm glad you think so," he murmured, watching the wine glug from the bottle as the waiter poured them each a modest glass. Neville felt wildly impatient with expectation, not from Hannah, not from anyone or anywhere, really. He'd only ever gone on a handful of dates and they'd always seemed like an opportunity to get to know the person you might like to consider yourself romantically involved with, and with Hannah, well. She knew the sort of man he was. He wanted to take her home and show her the sort of man he could be.
Neville would try, for Hannah's sake, to give her the kind of evening he suspected she wanted. He would be gentlemanly and patient and not ask to take their dinner to go.
"How is Tom?" He asked when their waiter departed again, remembering that the Leaky's owner and barkeep had been in poor health of late.