"Maybe it's ... the artist version of writer's block," he suggested. "Painter's block," he continued with a faint smile. "Maybe ..." He hesitated because he didn't actually have any suggestions there. How did writers get past their blocks? He laughed faintly and shrugged as he dropped his gaze briefly. "Guess I'm not going to be any help there," he concluded. But if doing it here helped her out, helped her past it, he had no problem at all with that.
"Yeah?" He laughed softly. He honestly hadn't known what her kitten did. Or really anyone else's. He was pretty sure April still didn't know what (if anything) hers did. "I don't mind," he assured her. While he wasn't completely certain they'd decided to venture out, it seemed like that might be the plan. It made sense; she could at least be comfortable here and not have to worry about her kitten or anything else, and neither one of them would have to be alone.
He thought he'd have to try to make an effort to actually keep some sort of snack in his cabin in case there were future drop-ins. Maybe some of the microwave popcorn or something. Or ask for his own air popper. Ah well.
Lifting his brows slightly, he cocked his head toward the door in a silent question -- were they heading out, was she ready?