That is somewhat reassuring, even if this still seems out of character for him—especially leading with a compliment like that.

Natasha sits across from him, crossing her arms on the table in front of her and leaning in conspiratorially. It makes it easier not to raise her voice to be heard. Her own drink for the evening, a whiskey neat, sits mostly untouched beside her elbow.

"Not sure I look that much different from any other night," she says, smiling faintly at the comment. "I haven't seen you in a while. I was starting to worry."