[ Some other out of control pervert? Slim chance. For some reasons those charms only seem to work -- wait no, they don't.
(Doesn't explain why she's so aware of his proximity and the quiet reaction it provokes. That's just Damon. Where it troubled and sometimes alarmed her before -- no, wait. It still does those things, and it's not only just now a part of her revels and desires and loathes the attention from him either.)
She looks forward into the line of drinks behind the bar, the mirror behind it. Her lips are pursed slightly, and she sighs at her reflection, at his words, because they may or may not true and they'd both like to believe they aren't. (She's usually wishing it wasn't about her. Especially with Damon.) (Especially not with Damon, too.)
She looks at his hand. Pulls in a breath.
She stops thinking and turns to face him. Place her palm over his. ] For tradition and all. [ Also because she wants to, and doesn't realize that she does until her hand is in his. ]