[ Somewhere between the distracted tone and the wayward glances (at least the ones that France can catch...he doesn't even know the half of it), the chances of this being a completely friendly exchange are dwindling.

France has been playing the game for too long. He just doesn't know the cause... or the reason he lets his eyes drop to America's fingers when they're lapped clean. He excuses it with a quick: ] Don't do that!

Not when you're going to touch other produce people will buy.

[ He can't take you anywhere nice, and he didn't even take you here. The question catches him off-guard enough that he turns, looking from the stalls to America's overly bright eyes. ]

I suppose I could keep you company. What stalls have been your favorite so far?

[ Look, innocent...conversation. ]