It's a subtle shift in position, but she notes the way he manages to block her off from a significant portion of the other pedestrians. Part of her idly wonders if it has anything to do with living with an audience, that implicit awareness that people might be watching, and where they might be watching from. She appreciates it, if a bit distantly. It's her friends that she really doesn't want seeing her like this, but being spared the bewilderment or pity of strangers is a mercy, too.

Coffee doesn't appeal to her, and neither does lingering out in public. If she has to have this conversation, she'd as soon do it in the privacy of her own apartment. She swallows past the lump in her throat, then hefts her bag of groceries. "Why don't you just come to mine? I've got to put these away." She focuses on the chore, holding that in her mind so she doesn't fixate on what she's going to say to him. Lying is something she can only really manage by text, where her face can't betray her. There's not much point in trying to keep him in the dark.

He might even take it better than most. He used to hang around dead people all the time.