She chews on what he's saying, her expression remaining carefully pinned together in curiosity. Her eyes are the only things to move, slipping from his face when he says he wants to see to her. The vaguest traces of pink color her cheeks.

"I do want to go to Manchester."

Quiet, and a touch tentative now. She's still working on that last remark, unsure just how she's supposed to interpret that. She knows he's married; part of what makes this work is knowing he's not running for something serious, something long-term. He's safe.

"An' I did — I do — want you t'come t'Texas."

She's becoming intimate with the contours of her boots, cataloging every scuff and blemish. The last thing she had expected was for him to be so candid. Without thinking, she takes a handful of meandering steps closer to him.

"An' I never, never thought you was a bad bloke."