It wasn't a date. [As far as he knows it wasn't a date. Given how it went, it might've been a date that went wrong. The thought grates against Jean's nerves in a way that he doesn't really want to think about, especially now that the obvious has suddenly been made apparent to him.

So much that he nearly forgets about the second question. It's only a beat of "I don't want to think about this" that makes him more aware and willing to recall it.]

And—I'm not sure. Maybe we can take the bullet train somewhere to a museum he hasn't seen yet. He'd like that. [He gives an awkward shrug.]