Her lips press together, but she doesn't laugh. She's seen the pictures, the before and after shots.

"Well, you still have excellent bones," she assures him. Her pencil drifts over the page, and she falls into the rhythm, her gaze flitting between him and the paper. "So, your friend -- she didn't tell you she'd set us up? Because that was the distinct impression I got when she took the ticket out of my hand." Though, now that she thinks about it, she didn't actually say that, not in so many words.