[He hadn't expected she would make an appearance at the conference after things had gone silent between them; though he had hoped to see her there when he'd issued the invitation, things had changed dramatically since then.

He clears his throat softly after a moment of awkward silence as he processes, pushing his chair back and taking up his plate so that he can help himself to seconds, as well. While he wouldn't go so far as to say the source of his stress has been resolved, this is the most he's felt like eating in weeks.]

You're hardly in my way. If anything, it's your house.

[His gaze is fixed very firmly on the pan as he puts a bit more onto his plate, unsure if he can afford to risk meeting her own again.]

It's miserable weather for travel. He's right— better that you stay put. I imagine we can— coexist, for a night.

[There's a note of hesitance in his voice; it shouldn't be so hard, it never had been before, but he's painfully reminded of the stilted, awkward conversations back when she had decided it was best to pretend they had never met, that first day before the start of the semester. It feels much the same, only this time it's far worse, because she's far more than an intriguing stranger.

Rather than return to the table, he leans against the counter a few feet down from the spot she's chosen, digging into his dinner there and only briefly stealing a cautious sidelong glance when he thinks he can afford to.]

If you're staying to pass the storm, it's nice to know the shopping I did for two people's worth of meals needn't go to waste.