"Me? No. No, I'm brilliant." He broke out into a wide smile at that, indicating just as to how brilliant he really was. "This might well land in my top ten most dangerous moments, but it's nowhere near offed me yet. Don't worry." Ron nervously straightened the strap of his bag, adjusting it on his shoulder once more. It was a habit that he had. Ron usually did it the most when he was very nervous about something. At the moment? That something was Pretty Girl. "So, erm, I reckon I should let you get back to work." He didn't want her to go back to work. Not really. Grinning at Pretty Girl like a complete and total moron was fun, after all.
"Actually." Ron straightened up, looking delighted about the simple fact that he had a reason to keep her around. "I'm delivering mail. What's your name? Maybe I've got something here for you. It'd save me a trip. Just get out of the way now and all, yeah?" Yeah. Right. He was just trying to be productive. That made sense. Bloody hell. This was why he needed to stay in America. The women. The fucking women. This one, in particular, was absolutely fantastic. Pretty Girl. Very, very Pretty Girl.