Actions over words. Alright, maybe he's more her type than she initially thought.

"Willing to go catch my own if I had to. Didn't work so well last time, but I'm willing to try anything twice." And she props herself backwards against the nearby counter space, mere feet away, watching him work.

His hands, in particular. Not just to imagine what they'd feel like, either, that's just surface level thoughts induced by whatever smacked her in the face. No, there are little details she's looking over, nicks, scars, bumps and callouses. He's a fighter, this one, or used to be. Well, you never really stop, do you? Information she tucks away, for the moment.