Sometimes, he really is - but he'd never let on. It's not about being awkward for him, though he can be from time to time still, it's more about being utterly in awe that he just can't think of anything that doesn't sound like a teenager stumbling out an 'I love you'. It's a curse.

"Well... I mean... you do make it look really good." And she knows how to play him like a two-bit fiddle, a little hint of lace and extra skin and he's sold anything. If it was cut right he'd love her in a burlap sack.

The drive is a slow one, city streets still busy with the evening traffic before he admits; "We've got an eight-thirty reservation."