Ned laughs, because by now he knows enough about Ginsberg's workplace to wonder along the same lines. "Bob would notice," he mutters, with a touch of humor. It's probably mean, he knows, to make fun of someone he'd only met so briefly. Probably uncalled-for. But at the same time, he can't quite help himself.

Under the warmth of that grin Ned can only smile back, feeling his face redden and little and looking down at his coffee as he sips it. Ginsberg seems so excited by the whole idea - maybe he really ought to have told him earlier.

"I can close up a bit early today." No bosses for him to explain to, after all.

And so, he did. The two of them finished their coffee and he, feeling happy and self-conscious all at once, wished Ginsberg a good day at work as the two of them parted ways. As Ned walked back towards the Pie Hole he felt unaccountably light, as if someone had turned gravity down a few notches. He was happy. There was a sliver of his mind that distrusted that happiness, but he was getting better and better at refusing to listen to it. The day passed in a delightful haze; it was a good thing Ned could make pie practically in his sleep, because he didn't pay almost any attention to what he was doing. His thoughts kept drifting (as they were wont to do) to Ginsberg, and their coffee that morning, and all the coffees and dinners and talks before. Sometime around three or four in the afternoon, it occurred to him that he was infatuated.

Evening rolled around and Ned shooed away the last of the customers early, shut up shop and waited. He was excited, kept himself occupied by cleaning the ovens and sweeping the floor of imaginary dust.