Sam smiled at the little smile and the words. He didn't blush; he wouldn't, not often really. His free hand slid along Betsy's side, the picnic blanket lightly beating against them both with the breeze.
"I like you too, Betsy. You're new but not." He laughed softly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before letting her go, or at least spinning her out from the close embrace.
"Didn't run with too many supes; knew 'em but didn't run with 'em. I know you're not one. You're something else, but you're just enough supe to be comforting. Just enough not to be old hat. Not that I think anyone could ever call you 'old hat.'" He laughed softly, squeezing her hand.
"You're not a bad egg. Spoiled, but not." He gave her a wink. He didn't mind the princess act because he did believe a good bit of it was an act. Something she learned to get through life. He had taken on many acts of his own to get through life; he understood.