*is already reaching past you to toss her damp and mascara-stained tissue in the trash* *clears her throat a bit and eyes you, the deadpan only marginally ruined by the lingering moisture clinging to her lashes* If you're what passes for quiet, sir, I'd hate to see the loud ones.
No. You're not.
*would tear up again at that, honestly, but she's been ridiculous enough for one day* *manages a wobbly smile for you as you haul yourself to your feet (good God, she almost wants to phone the hospital for a wheelchair before you fall (tim-ber!))* Only if you'll do the same. *hesitates and adds* Oh... and I'd love to go to lunch with you. If you still want to.