(Look, two hundred years old doesn't actually mean he's stepped up his game in anything other than superficial ways. And this isn't the equivalent of picking up a snack at the bar, Kate.)

The shoulder bump sends them gently drifting; Aidan doesn't bother to course correct, though he keeps her hold on her arm tight enough to keep them lightly meandering in the same direction. Instead he's grinning a little, the corners of his mouth working against it and failing.

"Great." A beat. "I'd like that."

See that? Smooth as velvet.