Ned doesn't even dignify that concluding apology with a reply, though a faint furrow makes its way between his brows. He's so often the one making that sort of conversational gesture that it's momentarily strange to be on the other side of it. Rather than reassure this man that he doesn't sound like a lunatic at all, he merely keeps talking to him: that's a vote of confidence of an entirely different kind.

"Normally I'm not the kind of guy who likes getting mired, but I'm not sure I mind so much in this case. Though if she comes back for another parting shot, I will be running into the kitchen and pretending we never had this chat." He smiles, thinks that he should leave it at that. Say something about enjoying the rest of his stay and go. Ned looks up, sees that there are coffee cups that need filled. But something weighs his feet down like lead, makes him linger.

"And that's not likely," he says in a lower voice. For one thing, he doesn't want this to be overheard by any of the other customers, who are thankfully not sitting all that close. He also wants it to come out sounding suave or at the very least flirtatious, but that's a little more challenging considering the hint of nervousness that's coming over him, "Your scenario about a picky customer sending back the pie. No one sends back my pie." Ned says it as if it's a fact, rather than a boast. "You just don't know that because you haven't eaten any yet." He looks pointedly to the untouched pie on the man's plate.