“I did,” she informs him, forthrightly- and then, catching herself, “-not all this. I remember your hair touched my hand when you took it,”

her sudden laugh, a slight derail; “I was so annoyed, I didn't want you to, and your hair touched my fingers and I couldn't stop thinking about it. Obviously I didn't think about it.”

For a great many reasons, that had not been something to dwell on; not something to be pursued, then, not something either of them would have welcomed. That said: he's extremely good-looking and she's not blind, much to her own lingering irritation.