[ Her eyebrows have quirked up again. Goodness, he's apparently embarrassed himself. She'd claim credit, but is belatedly understanding how her own words could be misconstrued. In his favour, she believes only incurable flirts would think to be interested in her, because they're about the only people blind enough to have no taste beyond "not hideous."

She has a particular expectation of the world in relation to herself, and it's not a flattering or self pitying one. Which in this case does work in his favour--for all if he'd been equally blunt back, she would have been amused at having inadvertently continued the miscommunication. ]

I didn't think it was. And I don't mind either way that you didn't ask what I wanted to do. People make worse presumptions.

[ She hopes that's more clear, since it's what the not minding either way was. She didn't care where they were drinking, and takes a swallow of cider, puzzling over the taste before deciding she likes it decently enough. ]

Here's to being awake.

[ And she holds up her glass towards him, in offering of a cheers and change in subject. ]