"That requires a bit of explanation," Lestat said. And some verbal tapdancing, Lestat. You're a moron.
Once they reached the shop, he nodded at the girl at the door and she told him he could sit at any table. Lestat decided on one in the back, away from most of the patrons, and asked if she could bring them a pot of tea to share, of the lady's choosing.
He pulled the chair out for Honour and waited for her to sit.
He was chiding himself for bringing a nice girl to a public place so that he could explain to her that the things that go bump in the night were real, and Eric was one of them. And maybe that he was one of them. This could not go well.
Perhaps, he thought to himself, he was a masochist. Surely that was it.