"We'll be back in plenty of time," he reassured her. Ford had no strong feelings whatsoever on where they sat for the next dance or whether they even watched it, but it was clearly something that was important to her. The look on her face while she'd considered whether or not to take his hand! He could have simply died, and suspected he had at least wilted a bit under her frown. She'd accepted his hand, though, and she'd agreed to follow him outside, so that was something.

It was maybe not the best idea to be headed towards a relatively private conversation with a girl he was in-love-with-but-not-really, but Ford felt he'd already committed to it and couldn't back out now. At least, this was the rationale that he presented to himself internally. Part of it was also that he just wanted to, despite knowing he shouldn't. And what were the alternatives, really? It wasn't as though he was going to part ways with her, at least not as long as she would tolerate his company. He'd be driven to distraction by her wherever she was or whatever she was doing. At least if they were having a conversation, he had a plausible excuse when he was caught staring at her.

They didn't have to make it all the way back to the refreshment table, because a waiter was wandering by with a tray of glasses and Ford was able to seize the opportunity to snatch a pair. They didn't have their choice of any drink on the table this way, but he didn't care — it wasn't the same as the orange thing they'd just finished, and that seemed safe. He took a sip and passed one over to her. "Oh, this is gin," he said with some relief — being able to taste the alcohol was safer than not being able to taste it, although this drink was just as sweet as the last had been. "I didn't ever ask what kinds of drinks you would be looking for," he pointed out.

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