She'd known he hadn't been joking around about the bar. Even though she's come to know that Strange likes his dry quips every now and then, she does think that there had been an endgame in sight. Go to a bar, enjoy themselves, possibly sing very bad karaoke and either remember the tone-deafness or be granted the luxury of not remembering the other had embarrassed themselves at all.

But she can't help the trepidation she feels. New York bustles with people. It's louder than Westview, significantly noisier than her Sokovian cabin. She's still getting used to swimming in a vast sea packed with so many fish.

If he didn't trust her, she doesn't think he'd be gently pushing it.

"A glass of water will do?" She smiles, then feigns concern, "I wouldn't want to embarrass you by drinking you under the table."