He's not completely conscious of the effect he's having, but he has noticed Tony smiling at his jokes. He's glimpsed the shift in mood between them, something awkward and strained and desperate changing to something no less needy but far more hopeful. He can feel his own mindset relaxing, thinking maybe in time they actually will be okay. It's something immense, unexpected and monumental, and they're hiding it behind friendly harassment and the need to get lunch. Which is working quite well.

Steve is a little nonplussed at having the door held for him. If Tony wanted to throw him off base, pleasantly so, performing the little courtesies that a guy of his era would feel the need to for a woman in his company is a hell of a great way to do it. It's kind of sweet, whether it's meant that way or not.

Steve is inordinately excited about birch beer. It's hard to find in a lot of restaurants, and they may end up needing a second pitcher. He's equally pleased by the topping selection, and the combo he selects is classic Coney Island fare. "You had...pizza flown in from this restaurant, you mean? All the way to Malibu?"

Well, damn. He wasn't sure if this was a chance selection or a place Tony knows well. That answers that question. And leaves him looking strangely shy and befuddled. "You're tryin' to impress me?"