[ Inherently she knows that Claude doesn't mean to irritate or sow more seeds of doubt with what he says but that doesn't stop her from feeling like his words are a thorn she's caught a piece of her clothing on. It's hard to ignore the niggling voice of doubt asking if that's really the case. Most days it felt like a constant back and forth between convincing herself that what Claude said was actually the case and believing it.

Thankfully he gives her a moment of proverbial reprieve to detach herself from that snag, playing it off like she's seriously scrutinizing the offer laid out before her. It's easier to focus on the warmth of his hand. As if she'd say no. Not with the way he squeezes her hand like it means something and that this is all a regular, normal day and that nothing was the matter. ]

I mean you're really going to have to add in more than just paints and beads. What about my stomach? [ She presses into him like that will somehow also press the doubt out of her. ] I'm giving up a dinner here, remember?