His eyes—and only his eyes—follow Maggie as she hastens to create what he presumes is a sort of buffer zone of bar patrons. Her reaction is surprising only in its lack of severity—he'd opened his mouth fully prepared to be mopping vodka from his face moments later. He watches for a handful of seconds and then leaves her, for the time being, to her own devices.

He orders a scotch and, when it arrives, settles in at the bar for a glass' worth of calm and perhaps a quarter-glass' worth of reflection.