It seemed the wizarding world in which he lived, could not go an entire year without some form of disaster. Dragons last September in London. Plagues, fires and fogs. Now it was a giant sinkhole in Padmore Park. Nigel's department had little to do but support relief efforts and he had not been truly dispatched to do anything of use himself. It left him antsy and worried and it took him far too long to figure out just what it was about the whole thing that had him so anxious.

He hadn't made much progress on wrapping his head around the situation with Enid. Did he have the same feelings for her that she held for him? Not to the extent he thought. He cared for her obviously, would hate for this to cause a chasm between them, but he also did not want to get her hopes up and there were obstacles in the way that he did not know if the could circumvent even if they wanted to.

Then of course a new disaster brought out the fact that she was, once again, called to deal with a major catastrophe, in which she could easily get caught up in herself, and he was brought back the relief he'd felt after finding her post-dragons. That had to mean something, right?

It had been a long day of trying to be helpful and he had only caught a glimpse of her to at least know she was alright. Upon being dispatched from service at the pit, Nigel hadn't wanted to linger and be in the way, so he'd flooed back to the Glen and taken a seat at the bar. Helping clear a disaster was a good reason to need a drink right? Right. He had nursed a deep glass of whiskey and half a second before the fireplace of the pub lit up and Enid stepped out.

Now faced with the obvious fact that he may have been waiting for her, and was half in his cups because of it, Nigel flushed red and gave her a lopsided smile.