"Shame," she mused, taking a sip of the coffee. Not that he looked particularly Irish or that she had a particular fondness for Irish men - how could she? She had no idea what kind of man she liked or didn't like. (Although one who liked her back would've been a nice start.)
Setting the cup back onto the table, she brushed hair behind her ear. It was a nervous tick.
In return to his reply, she offered one of her own, the question understood. "I'm Amy."