[he's a little unsure. and there's a moment where it's a bit awkward, and his fingers are moving along hers to find the appropriate way that they link. he notes the focus, brushes it aside, and uses the means in which he knows best to clear the air.]

If I wait too long I'll become an old man with a very long, ugly beard.

[the mistletoe had matched the foliage so well that he hardly knew it was there. instead he allowed himself to be carried with his feelings.]

And then you'll come to me in a grand demonstration, but I'll be too blind to see it. That's a story somewhere, isn't it? If it's not, perhaps I should write it and market it.

[quiet, dummy.]