He starts at that, sharply enough that a little of his coffee spills over the edge of the cup onto the slender brown hands that clasp it - and he may be glad to have ordered a latte, in this case, for at least it only scalds a little. Flushing, he sets his cup down and reaches for a napkin.

He should, he realises, have seen that coming. He should have seen it coming as soon as she sat down with him. He can almost hear his brother's good-natured laughter from beyond the grave - a thought tinged with both fondness and sharp, bitter grief. Boromir would have known at once; would have teased him ceaselessly for not realising her intentions; and he feels a fresh sorrow at the knowledge of that, but he will not dwell on it. He has a moment to gather himself, at least, under the guise of wiping up the spilled coffee. When he looks up, his cheeks are still a touch darker than they should be, but he smiles, nonetheless.

She is, it strikes him, quite a lot younger than him, and he knows her hardly at all. There is a part of him, then, which is doubtful; which feels that it would not be fair or proper to accept. But if it is only one date...

"I would." He clears his throat, and smiles a little more certainly. "Of course. It would be good to get to know you better."