Nerves tended to turn Qebhet into an over-apologiser. It was an anxious habit so ingrained, she rarely realised she was doing it until, as now, she saw the confusion flicker across the other person's eyes – and, as now, found herself seized by the thoroughly ridiculous urge to apologise for apologising. But Much smoothed past her awkwardness swiftly, and in his usual easy way managed to spin her request into a personal favour to him, and even with the lingering fizz of self-consciousness Qebhet couldn't help but break into a smile.
"Oh, well, that," she said as she raised her own glass to her lips, "is my pleasure." She could say that genuinely. Spending time with Much was a pleasure, when she wasn't tying herself in knots in her own head. When she set the glass back on the coffee table, she asked, "How have you been, Much? Hurricanes aside."