Her laughter in response somewhat surprises him, his brows raising and he has to fight the urge that fills him to look behind him and back at her. He definitely should’ve opted for the comment on the screaming children, ask her about her first year of teaching, congratulate her on securing the position and perhaps bore, or even annoy her with questions on what her first year had been like. But he didn’t and now he must face the consequences of his actions and likely listen to her remark on their exchanging of phone numbers or something else that’d disappoint him. And yet, she doesn’t - much like she never had done before. He can hear the hesitation in her voice and he almost wonders if she’s going to tell him that she’s seeing somebody - that being the reason she wasn’t interested in somebody’s nephew, and yet again, she doesn’t. He wonders if she avoids the topic out of courtesy, but he makes no mention to ask, knowing her admittance would only further drive the blade. Although, he does grow curious and that seems to send his mind racing back to the man that’d answered her phone back in college. As he untangles the bit of plastic cling from the cheese, he finds himself stilling in his position at the next words that leave her, that of not being “ that great ”, and immediately, the pads of fingers are pressing hard into the dairy, likely leaving prints, as his brows furrow in confusion. His lips part, although he isn’t sure what to say, he knows he’s meant to - even if it is no longer his place, but instead, she clears her throat and the moment is gone. He can hear her feet tapping against the floor before the question has even left her completely, and it’s enough to regain that bit of hope that’d lingered within him previously. As she moves to stand beside him, he chooses to ignore the couple feet of distance between them, although he knows its for the better. He’s not too sure whether he’d be able to keep himself as composed as he’d been if she’d bumped her hip against his own - aware of the ongoing struggle that was brewing beneath his blank facial expression, although he wasn’t sure which struggle he was more privy to caving to. With his casted arm, he moves to reach out for the loaf of bread propped up on the counter, his movement slow and languid as if he’s fearful once she’s handed the bread she’d simply take off. “There’s butter in the fridge,” He mentions as he moves to cut a couple slices of cheese, “bought it earlier,” he adds on, though his words seem useless at this point. There’s another moment of silence that falls between them, and Arlo finds his lips parting once again, although he begs himself to stop - he doesn’t. “You are though — that great.”
