Personal

"Personal," Ethan answers.

Frowning, Sam sighs. "Right. Well," she takes a deep breath, "None of your business. None of your business. No. I drank a normal amount of milk as a child. Not interested. Two milk, two sugar. None of your business. REALLY none of your business. No, I don't have back problems. And," she glances up, "No, thank you."

Ethan takes a second, reeling from all the information just dumped on him. Still recovering, Ethan manages to ask. "Uh... what?"

Looking back down, Sam sighs. "Those are the answers to the ten questions I'm sure you were going to ask me."

"I, uh..." Ethan considers her relatively repetitive answers, "What... Questions did you think I was going to ask?"

"You know what questions," Sam frowns, "They're right on the tip of your tongue right now."

Ethan feels a little called out. "Do people actually ask how much milk you drank as a kid?"

Sam chuckles, keeping her eyes down, "Between my height and my chest? Absolutely."

"Hm," Ethan considers that, "I take it you really don't like talking about yourself."

"I wouldn't say that," Sam shrugs, "I just don't like talking my body with men I barely know. And don't try to act innocent. You might have thrown on an icebreaker or two, but you'd eventually ask about it."

Despite himself, Ethan thinks she might be right. Sighing, he decides to just embrace silence instead, not wanting to make this any more awkward.

After a few moments, Sam sighs. "I'm 4'10."

"Ah..." Ethan shifts.

Glancing up, Sam gives him a look. "I think we go back enough you can have that. But that's all you're getting." She looks back down at the file in hand.

Sitting there, Ethan smiles at the very small olive branch. That wasn't his original question, but it'll work.