There weren't people like Steve where Tony was from either. Not really anyway. Maybe there were ironic facsimiles but nothing like the real thing, apparently. Because there could be guys in plaid slinging espresso around every corner in New York, but none of them were out fixing peoples roofs or -- well. Whatever it was Steve here was doing. Being small town perfect.
"Thanks," Tony said again, trying to figure out what kind of world he'd stepped into where the general store made coffee. But sure, cool. "I love coffee. Is there a hotel nearby?" Tony, bemused and a little charmed, took the hand Steve was offering him in order to get out of the truck unencumbered by ice.
Honestly, even if nothing else was working to his advantage - spark plugs, ice, the bed and breakfast -- at least Steve was evening it out.