Combeferre chuckled. "I might manage on my own, but I think I would find the endeavor significantly more enjoyable with your assistance. If you would allow it, of course." He allowed himself a flash of a grin, barreling on before he could lose his nerve. "Perhaps you might allow me to buy you dinner, and share something of what you have been studying. Or... anything else you might like."

Honestly, he was glad for the speedy distracted. Perhaps he had read her wrong. Perhaps she was only being kind, offering a tour out of politeness, or professional camaraderie at best. He did not think this was the case, but, well, Henri Combeferre had never claimed to be an expert on women.

And so instead of worrying about whether or not he had just made a complete fool of himself, he struggled to imagine the whirring machine that waited so close by. "C'est vrai? Le bon Dieu." He exhaled. "Pictures of the brain."