How had he seen her face in the strange visions he'd been having?
The theory that his visions were of something real and immediate gained some ground now that he knew it was her in some of them. Until he could match what he was seeing with something he could immediately see in front of him, he couldn't be certain that his suppositions were correct. But knowing now that some of his "sight" was of a very real person -- it could support his idea. And, at the very least, it was new data. New data about a mystery was never unwelcome.
But these thoughts were only a few of many circulating in his head as Catherine St. Giles spoke -- and certainly not the most important. Elias listened carefully to what she said, restraining from ascribing his own interpretation or hope and instead accepting exactly what the words meant -- and nothing more. He felt on uneven footing; he felt like a fool. And in the moment, his refuge was logic. He could not allow himself to hear or act on anything else other than logic.
And so, once Ms. St. Giles finished, he nodded. He could indeed understand the drive to assist when assistance was needed; that same responsibility was deeply ingrained in his own psyche. It was part of the reason why there was a boy in his apartment. It was part of the reason why he was going to a Starbucks without a laptop on a Monday night. He understood it. But understanding it did not preclude the acknowledgment that it had meant a great, great deal to him. He was not one to be in a position of helplessness. It did not sit well on him. And yet, he had been -- and she had kept him from becoming wholly lost. No, it was nothing he would soon dismiss. But he recognized now that she had most probably dismissed it. The appropriate response was to accept her dismissal. He would do so -- outwardly at least.
"As you wish, Madam," he said in response, reminding himself again not to call her Ms. St. Giles. She had certainly earned the respect that her proper address provided -- but again, she seemed not to want to accept it. Again, he recognized that the appropriate action was to cease to follow what social mores said was respectful and instead use her own preference. He would do this as well.
But as for her comments on how he should ask her out, as for her dissection of the act and tutorial of what came after, he only nodded. The woman was quite clearly out of his league and quite clearly resistant to all his previous extensions of amorous intent (he deliberately set aside the remembrance of her cool fingers in his hair), and it would be foolish to believe that her "if I say 'yes''" statement meant that she was inviting him to ask.
He was not too proud to admit that he could use teaching in how to court a woman. He was too proud for such teaching not to sting, sharply.
"I will keep it in mind," he said at last, turning the key in his mailbox.