Thomas squeezed her hand, not hard, just in a gesture of combined familiarity and apology. Pepper was a friend, in a way, and he owed her better. He stepped slightly back and turned, but kept her hand in his, leading her farther inward (though certainly still in sight of the windows and a large number of people within the restaurant, who all seemed to be going about their business, eating their pastrami, slurping their sodas and folding their napkins.
He stepped closer to one of the chairs, Italian leather shoes, no cane, and a pronounced limp. He pulled the chair out for her slightly and gave her a reassuring look. There wasn't a lot of movement in his face as the expression moved over it, but it was in his eyes. "I wouldn't harm you. Please sit." He still had no let go of her hand.
She smelled sharp, he realized. It took him a moment more to realized he was not smelling with his nose, but with another of his senses. Metal. Clean metal. How strange. He tipped his head and gave her a surprised, but admiring tilt of his brows.