( honestly, it just fits in with what he knows of her. she's a combatant of some kind, that much he's sure, an' he keeps his room just as clear of any detritus. military uniformity, an' all. he waffles briefly in the doorway like he ain't sure if he should take his boots off or not — coraline has him trained, after all — but ultimately he leaves 'em on.

if he catches the blush he don't say a word about it, just looks away to give her a polite moment to compose herself. )

Oh, it's, ah. Buttermilk. Ain't as fancy as some other sorts, but it's what we've got the ingredients for. My Ma's recipe.