Slowly - partially because he didn't want to seem eager, mostly because of his hideous hangover - he grabbed his notebook and cup of coffee, and made his way to the woman's table. He studied her for a moment before sitting down.
"I can't say that sketching a strange woman in a bar has ever gotten me an invitation to sit with her before," he announced, bemused.
Where HAD he seen her before? He was becoming less and less sure that he ever had. Maybe she was related to Lane. Considering her accent, that would make sense.
"Been in New York long?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. He covertly hid the sketch he had made with his free hand.