Lydia Martin personifies (

eunoia) wrote in

"Stiles," she repeats and nods, setting it to memory, at least for the time being. "It's no problem. Honestly, I just needed help hauling groceries," she deadpans with a facial shrug that slips into a playful smile. What? He's cute.

She's already moving around the kitchen putting things away as he's stepping back — probably wise, on his part — and she doesn't look at him when she responds, because she's bent, hanging into the fridge to put away some cold cuts. "Oh almost definitely. Seriously, it's no problem, I don't mind. Phone book is...in one of those drawers in the breakfast nook, but I can't remember which one." She pops up again and closes the fridge.

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