I smile a little as I watch him. He uses humor to deflect from pain and my heart aches for him, but I understand. It is a natural human tendency to make a joke (or as I call them, a 'funny') when attempting to hide pain.<br/><br/>I squeeze his hand and offer a wider smile than my last. "Of course, Toby." My hand lingers on his hand tand then pulls away to rest on my glass. The glass is cold and beads of moisture cling to it. I suddenly wish that my hand was touching Toby's again. It is warm and dry, and the size of it is comforting.<br/><br/>What seems like an eternity passes as he looked into my eyes and I look into his. It sounds as if the little songbird with the beautiful voice is nearing the end of her soft, melodic tune.  I break the silence between Toby and I, and I wonder, briefly, if it is the right thing to do.<br/><br/>"Why don't you go up?" I ask. I am already standing and my hand, which is now warm and slightly damp from that delicious drink that I have again finished, grabs his own. We share the moisture and I stand.<br/><br/>I am not a tall woman, nor am I a big woman. That is why, lucky for Toby, that I like big men. I pull him up to a standing position and my wild, unruly blonde curls cascade down my back like a golden waterfall. My perfume wafts through the air and I am suddenly very,<i>very</i>glad that I decided to put in a little effort tonight.<br/><br/>"When the band takes a break," I clarify. "You should go up on stage. You've made me laugh, and I'm the Goddess of Comedy. I know a good kid like you when I see one," I wink playfully.