"I shouldn't have butted in," Peter admitted, feeling guilty for the way she'd retracted her hand. They were stopped now and he looked at her, holding his frappe. It was cold in his hand and sweating over his knuckles.
With his free hand, he signed a little more conspicuously than he had been before as his thoughts and words tried to catch up to one another. "My father just passed away and I guess I just didn't feel like staying quiet about it." It had been, ultimately, a pig headed thing to do.