As the smile returned to the man's face, Steve felt another wave of relief, and mimicked sticking his hands in his own light jacket. They fell into a natural pace, though he half noted he seemed to be unnecessarily shortening his stride, which made little sense when he was already clearly slower than the other.
At the mention of the sixth floor, things made a little more sense logically speaking. At least several paygrades above Steve and rarely a place he visited unless something had special delivery instructions.
"If you're looking for advice on meeting your co-workers, I'm not sure who pointed you towards me. Most days my longest conversations are with mistyped shipping labels," he joked, then realized that the crack might have sounded better not being on the heels of another psycho-moment. Still, something told him he'd be forgiven for it. He absently rubbed his chest and decided it was at least a good thing he'd gotten scared before the second double-espresso. He grinned. "Only time I've heard of people calling me nice was before they asked me to break company policy on rush-deliveries or something. Or one of the pther mail guys trying to get me to cover their holiday hours."