The hand on hers is a surprise. Thomas exudes such an air of propriety; she wouldn't have guessed he'd do something so, well... intimate. Not that it's terribly intimate by her own standards, but she can't help wondering if it might be by his. She's more than a little bit tempted to turn her hand over, to curl her fingers around his palm, but that would probably be too much. Besides, if she draws attention to it, he might notice and pull away, and she doesn't want that.

When she does gather the courage to look up at him, she finds far more sympathy than she was anticipating -- and less disbelief. There's no doubt at all, in fact, which is no small relief.

"We did manage to break it," she says, attempting a reassuring smile. "We had a son, just a month or so before I came here." She doesn't bother adding that she wasn't exactly given much time to revel in their victory; that much is obvious. Nor does she especially want to delve into the circumstances of her departure. That's not the part of the story that matters right now, and she doesn't want things to turn bleak. She's in a charming tea shop with a charming man; surely they can manage to enjoy themselves a little.