[ That Steve notices. He's observant, he's just not great with innuendo, so even without the muttering in the background he can tell he's said something wrong, and knits his eyebrows together to try and work back to what it was. He wouldn't make Sam pay out of pocket for a mistake, especially given the way Steve egged him into it. It wouldn't feel right. And he thought he was being obvious that he'd drink anything Sam set in front of him, because he liked...

Oh. Oh.

He rubs his forehead to mask his grimace. Steve, you blockhead. He flushes with nerves, his aggravation with himself battling for dominance over his surprise that Sam could be flirting back. Idiot, he literally asked to buy him a drink, and it flew right over his head. ]

Thanks. But I'll pay for the next one. At least let me put something in your tip jar. [ He's too embarrassed to attempt much eye contact, which Sam may not even notice now that he's moved off to work on his drink. His eyes land on his sketchpad, and he suddenly brightens with an idea. ] Reimbursement for dealing with your first pain-in-the-ass customer.

[ He laughs self-deprecatingly, rubbing the back of his neck. ]