“The same,” Enigma said, not bothering to look at the waitress, instead studying Damon. “And pie, doesn't matter the flavor so long as it's a variation of a fruit and not a week old.” She finally took her eyes off of Damon, flashing the waitress a wide grin. “Please,” she added, as if remembering her manners, looking completely sweet and innocent.
Or at leas giving it her best shot, which wasn't too hard since she practiced the look often.
Once the waitress had walked off to fetch their coffees and pies, she turned back to Damon with a smaller, more sincere grin. “So, what's a guy like you doing in seedy twenty-four hour coffee shops with strange girls? Doesn't seem like your type of scene.” Then again, Enigma was rather judging his book by his cover, it could be entirely his scene.