Pouting? Squeaking? Good lord, Buffy's going to have enough ammunition on Dean to last for months. That said, she withdraws her hand pretty quickly, wearing a rueful expression. "Sorry..."

At least he's not arguing or trying to resist, however. She nods, sliding off the hood of the car in preparation to leave. "Okay-- and of course I don't mind. Windows are... good." She pauses, rather awkwardly, as a thought occurs to her, gesturing vaguely at the Impala. "Umm... do you-- I mean do you feel like you can drive? I wouldn't ask, except-- we had the conversation about how I drive really badly, right?"