As he returned with her drink, Much's hand brushed the back of hers, casual but deliberate. Qebhet raised her eyes to meet his, and the moment of realisation brought a tinge of warmth to her cheeks. Oh? Had he been— since she walked in? Well, he had called her a pretty girl, but she'd thought that was just— And not that he wasn't— of course he was attractive, she just hadn't— Oh, she was so bad at recognising flirtation!
Qebhet was so addled in the instant that she couldn't manage to summon a complete sentence, so she took advantage of the drink Much had just passed her and took a long sip. It was more potent than she expected, bittersweet and citrusy and – true to Much's promise – refreshingly cool. And it gave her a moment to gather her flustered thoughts.
It was a shy smile she offered him as she lowered the glass from her lips. "Yes," she agreed. "Though this—" she set the glass down on the countertop, "—is most certainly not water. But it is very refreshing. And the orange goes beautifully. Do you have a favourite cocktail?"