[ it would be practically impossible to miss that ‘we,’ but in her mind, that’s a given. of course, it would be ‘we.’ she’s a stranger and he no doubt wants his coat back. even if he’d somehow arrived here with more clothes than she did, he’d want his property back. it’s natural. he holds out the coat and she eyes it carefully. it’s finely made, well-made, with some wear and tear. that doesn’t detract from its appearance; it looks worn-in, comfortable. the embroidery is ornate without being ostentatious, and she’d guess it was some form of ‘designer’ if she had to.

the polite song and dance of this would dictate that caitlin should gently decline, only accepting when he offers it again. perhaps that’s just a midwestern quaintness, but it’s the way things are done as far as she knows. but something in the chill in her bones says otherwise. if she declines, she may freeze right here. politeness like that can only go so far. ]

Thank you. [ the words are murmured as she reaches back to slip her arms into the sleeves. the material is warm from his own body heat, and it’s all she can do to not wrap herself tightly in it, as if that would force that warmth into herself. it would look a bit creepy, too, she surmises. best not to potentially ward off the first person she’s met. ]

I think ‘not ideal’ is putting it mildly. I think we’re still in the frying pan, though. [ she smiles at him. ] I’m Caitlin. And your name?