"Any time," he assures her gently, and gives her arm a last gentle squeeze before pushing to his feet again -- pacing back around to slide onto his chair and sip at the rest of his own drink. "Take your time to cool off," he encourages. "You're not putting me out."

He pauses a moment, then after a second of thought begins to dig absently in his pockets -- shuffles for his wallet and tugs out a receipt (from Richmond Pets Company, if she reads the other side) and begins to scribble something on the back of it.

"Here," he says after a moment, and pushes it across the table. "This is my mobile number. If you find yourself stuck, let me know. Or if you just need another drink. Dog optional."