So that was a yes, then. Or likely as close to a yes as he was going to get from her. Which was interesting. It made sense that she'd stay in the tavern; no sense buying property here with all the wealth she claimed to have (highly exaggerated, he suspected), especially if she was planning on moving on from here in the future. That really was something to almost be jealous of -- that she had no particular job to keep her here and could thus leave this nasty little town if she wanted to. Maybe not to go back to Belailles, necessarily, but Castyll wasn't so bad, all things considered. He was circle back around to how long she'd been here -- a question she'd conveniently forgotten to answer before -- but decided against it. She'd probably only lie to him anyway. It was in her nature, after all.
"Depends on if I needed anything from you," he drawled lazily, watching her chase down the cherry in her drink. His father used to say that only weak-willed people liked sweet cocktails. No surprise that she'd chosen one. "If I think of something, I can let you know."