Mary's own smile brightened, always glad to find someone who enjoyed her company.
(That was unfair to others: there were many people that reached out to be friends with her, but Mary was just often not in a place where she accepted friends so readily. She knew, perfectly well, that when she was down she lashed out and refused to accept anything that could have been helpful. It was so much easier in fits of depression to be callous and difficult and - if it was towards someone like Judas - outright cruel. It was just who she was, and at this point it was unlikely to change.)
"Must be the jazz," Mary concluded, resting her chin on her palm and flashing her eyebrows at him.