Michel had just finished pouring himself a cup of the odd tea. He sniffed it before tasting it. It was drinkable. It still wasn't something he would've considered good, but at least it didn't taste like garbage. That was one thing off his to-do list. He then made a mental checklist of the things he could go over with her for that evening, idly picking up something to poke the wood in the fireplace. He supposed he should pull out his violin and practice a bit himself while waiting. However, just as he began that train of thought, there was the knock on the door. The door hadn't been locked so she could've just let herself in, but he walked down the steps to open it for her anyway. By any luck her fingers had frozen together in the cold and she couldn't turn the knob.
And then it appeared that her hands were just full. "You're late," he greeted, eyeing what she was carrying curiously. His greetings never were actually much like greetings. And he hadn't been keeping track of the time at all, considering he never really knew when to expect her. It was always easier for him to criticize. Still, he held the door open for her and motioned her to get inside. "What is all of that?"