Dean had no idea what Leeloo was thinking. He was thinking how hot the kiss outside had been, despite the cold. He was thinking how he'd like to kiss her again. He was thinking, vaguely, that she did't seem to care that he had a useless hand.
He carried the mugs over to her, cradling them in his arm, walking with slow, deliberate steps to keep from sloshing over the sides of the mugs. It wasn't as easy as it should be, but he didn't mind.