"I said I should be. I never said I was going to be." Oona liked to be mischievous. Alcohol made that obvious. She get's her purse, fishes for the key, and sets the keychain on the table with a jingle. "I should give these to you now." Right now, when she has all her scruples. Though she doesn't plan to get fall-in-a- bush kind of drunk. She wants to get buzzy, warm, and giggly. She wants to picture him with his shirt unbuttoned and roll down the window and feel the summer on her booze blushed face when she does. Is it warm in here?
So their drinks come, and she leaves it for now. For a little while, she's interested in making new and unusual dishes with the leftover food on the table. Rafe has an impressively hardy appetite. She's interested in the way a person eats. It tells a lot about someone. Are they peckish with a cautious, careful appetite, or do they eat for enjoyment with a life devouring attitude? Do they eat fast or slow? Do they savour or rush?
She savors. But she'll until she can feel the edge of the table press against her stomach.
"A proper coffee or a Sanka?" She asks, half-joking. After all, he had a fancy kitchen with cuisine magazines. "Do you have tea?" An eyebrow shooting up. "Or is the offer only for coffee? Are you going to have one with me?" and she lifts up her drink for another toast. "Here's hoping your chest hair is soft and..." she is playful. " here's hoping I'll find out."