It's not-- It matters who it's from, to me. [Accepting a gift from someone who doesn't know her, who has no relationship with her feels...wrong. Hollow, insincere]
[The breathing that's been a little difficult for the last five minutes since he started unwrapping finally leaves her in a rush to even out, and in its absence she feels the remaining sense of pain from being held up. But it's not forefront in her mind, not when he's looking like he does and accepting and thanking her, for something she'd worried about and questioned to be an actually sound decision a hundred and three times in the last two hours alone.
It makes her so relieved and so adequate and so pleased, all on levels she really has no clue how to measure... but she does know that he doesn't need to see and understand just how anxious she was over it; something he'll probably be able to read all too clearly on her face if she lets even a sliver show. So she ducks her head quickly rather than risk it, staring down at her hands clasped together tightly in front of her, barely before an almost inaudible reply gets out]