She lets out a sympathetic hum; how sorry she is, really, to have to dash his hopes like this. What a curse it is sometimes to be so practical.

"Next time," she promises, leaning into him a little to press a kiss to the side of his neck. She stays close, and murmurs: "...can I take you home and offer you something at least as fun for being so understanding? I think that's only fair."

Plan B. (Not that she wouldn't deliver on that suggestion.)