Just to talk is never just that. People don't need to set dates for chatting. He's figuring he said something that upset Hershel, or the dog crapped on something important, or they're moving out-- nothing he likes the thought of, but all survivable. And then she just... says it.

Things go white in his mind, like bleach on paint, all runny. Embarrassment flares up next, and he turns his head. Instinctively, he's looking for Hershel. What if the kid hears him? Their places reversed, he'd kill himself in his sleep.

Their places reversed, he'd have a dad worth killing over. And- and no, no, thank fuck, it's not like that. It'll never be like that. Staring at his hands, he goes over what Maggie actually said. Attracted-- hilarious, but fine-- not anything more.

She's Maggie. He has to remind himself that. This isn't a game meant to snare him, it's not even like verbal dancing with Leah, one wrong step and everything's screaming. Maggie is a flat plane of true intention; you know where you stand with her, and Daryl thinks she prides herself on that.

He takes a wheezing sigh, trying to remember to breathe. Is he red in the face? Feels like it. (Nut up, Little Brother.) He stares her in the eyes, and asks what he's pretty sure is the only question worth asking: "What d'you wanna do about it?"