Iris lifted her chin so the soft fawn strands fell out of the way and the periwinkle sparkled at him. She was well aware he still knew more of her than she of him. She was not in a hurry either, however. She didn't plan on leaving soon, nor becoming irrevocably attached. "Thank you. You can put me down, then." Now they were talking about the physical door, but only because she shifted it without telling him. Impasse, for she wouldn't open the door this time.
Metaphorical or physical.
Sitting up a little in his arms, she lifted her foot so she could look at it before she was set down. "You did a fine job," she said, admiring the bandage. "It doesn't joggle so much when I move." Such a distinctly American word. Little puzzle pieces.