His lips part. The rest of his face pinches into something anxious and sad. He wants to sit by her side, have more of a connection with her than just their hands across the table. He wants this night to be the way it should, the way it was, with her smile and her laughter and her teasing. For her, he wants that. But these are her real feelings, and he wants that, too. He wants that for himself, no matter which night it is.
“Then we have to do something, we definitely have to do something,” he says, feeling more certain about things. “That’s terrible. And untrue. You’re very useful.”