Leaning back into his chair, as much as he could, he tried his own ice cream as she spoke. It was delicious, and the way his green eyes lit up for an instant, betrayed him. When she went on speaking about her past he found himself genuinely interested. Though, to be honest, she could've told him about the finer arts of watching mortar set between bricks and he would have been just as happy. She put him at ease, and that wasn't something easily done—not when you lived your life with your back up against one wall or the other. It was something in the way she carried herself that did it, and he didn't quite know what that was. It was somewhere between eloquent class and tender friendliness, and Rhett felt oddly comforted by her presence, though she knew nothing of his struggles. It was enough for him, now, to simply share the table with her.

He had never imagined for a moment that he would find himself jealous of ice cream, but as he watched her spoon rise and fall, he felt a keen hatred for every bite she took. While he had been denied a handshake, he was forced to watch a piece of cutlery take the glory from the field. The chill he'd noticed before grew a little as a cool breeze rushed through Diagon Alley and pulled him back to his senses. It wasn't enough to feel it in your bones, far from it—but it was enough to give your skin goose pimples and make your hair stand up. Rhett, seeing that small hand wrapped around her glass, produced a red bandanna quicker than a lightning strike. It was clean, neatly folded, and starched. The cowboy leaned forward, unfolding it as he moved. His eyes locked with her own for a moment, and he nodded gently as he slid the fabric around the base of her sundae, his fingers touching her own softly as he did so. “There you are, darlin'. So you don't freeze your little fingers right off.” His eyes insisted on his action, and said without a word that he would suffer no appeal.

Taking another bite himself, he pondered what she'd said and responded with a sagely nod. “Like I said, it's not a big difference, but it's there. I am happy to know the story behind it at any rate.” He nearly continued that thought but knew better.

“Texas is a great deal different from this place, you could say. It's a hel.. whole lot warmer for one and a lot drier for another. Sort of the gateway to the 'Wild West' as they say. Now that, I have no doubt, you have heard of. It's a little bit easier to find a bite to eat there as well.” He laughed a little, and gave her a playful wink. “That is the root of our little adventure as it were. I was trying to rustle up some grub for dinner at a place called the Leaky Cauldron and rustled up a Tabitha by mistake.” When he realized he’d used her name, he closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment and held up his hand. “I apologize, Ms. Chevalier. My desire to win a giggle or two, beat out my manners and commonsense. Please, don't take offense at that.” Slightly ashamed of himself, he took another bite in silence, if only to keep himself from speaking. There was a touch of color settling into his cheeks.