As the door opened Reinette was still privately chiding herself for her rather heavy handed reaction to Jack's compliment. It had not been even remotely skillfully done. The swinging of the door his her sigh.

What followed was silence.

Through the quiet Reinette was nearly still, taking in the sight before her. Bluer than the outside sky, fading from light to dark. And then? The coats. All of them smelling of the man, of course, she could not help but note. Did he even launder them? Or was indelibly a part of the fabric.

Just as quietly Reinette shut the door, her movements measured and precise.

She did not turn around.

"Well, if one knows what works for oneself," she finally mused. "It would be foolish to do otherwise."