Humming noncomittally in response, she looks back at him, tipping her chin toward the pair of garden shears she left on the table when they began this tiny tree adventure. It's not that she's against imparting that yes, they did, but she's not that sure any explanation she could give him wouldn't fall on dubious ears at this stage in what she's treating as a budding friendship.

"Are you still going to help me prune?"