Oh indeed he does. It's like a compass needle spinning wildly, a moth to a flame, that gravitational pull that magnetically draws him with bright, noticeable interest to her words—

Interrupted only a moment later by their drinks and fulfilled orders, and he has to swat the staff away to secure her full attention once more: his own entirely uninterested in the matter of food, now.

"Fenris? Angry with you? Oh my dear, you're but a darling dove. What on earth could you possibly have done to earn his ire?"