<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">Blaire nodded, aghast by the terrible waiter and his lack of expertise-- this boy belonged behind a McDonald's grill or register, adored in the regimental uniform: a flimsy ball-cap, cheap shirt and apron. Yes, that is exactly where the anxious adolescent should be. Stupid brat. "I agree! He needs to leave...and go eat some grapes. Perhaps then the boy might understand where wine comes from."<br/><br/>An inquisitive eyebrow rose, mildly creasing her placid forehead. She chuckled, fingers manipulating a hazel curl as coyness interrupted the sudden hostility. <br/><br/>"No, no!" arrived the hasty answer, along with a transitory glance downward. Onyx pupils returned; intent upon the male across the table they were, gently examining his unrefined frontage. "I actually love expensive cars, Galen, though…I've only had wine, oh, probably three or four times. Erm, maybe I shouldn't speak so badly towards our waiter."<br/><br/>Eyes widened, faint unease all but gone too, as that icy hand gently brushed her own. Their fingertips pulled apart, though the masculine digits were collected again and held within a warm palm. <br/><br/>Curiosity killed the cat; however, Blaire, unable to sit amid silence, inquired lightly, "So, may I ask about your career?" The suave suit invaded vision again. "I've seen you twice wearing quite professional attire. Don't you ever just want to throw on some sweatpants or…jeans?"</span><br/>