Sookie glances over briefly, quirking a brow and allowing herself a soft sigh. It wouldn't be the first time someone was convinced of her being the type to live in a whirlwind romance. She realizes that she has the look for it, all sweet and soft and blonde, always wearing a flowing skirt and curls framing her face— and perhaps more importantly, it's all honest, her choice in fashion and her choice to keep her language clean, all of it. It's attracted a fair number of men over the years, almost all of them with the intention of either corrupting or protecting her in full, neither of which she really wanted. Rather than being seen as some type of stereotype, some Southern beauty meant to be treated in a specific way, Sookie's only ever wanted for someone to see her in full, someone keen on learning what fell under the surface.

"I don't know about that," she says, eyes narrowing in doubt. "I love the idea of it, a fairy tale ending and all that comes with it, but I'd be the last person to expect it." With a small shrug and a tilt of her head, the smile on her face still aimed at the happy couple, she shakes her head.

"I used to be a telepath. You get tired of men real quick when you're able to tell when they're really thinking romance and when it's just words."