Florence had been brought up to be polite. It helped her to blend in, her mother had told her. The goal in her young life was not to be called an immigrant. Not to be put on display as something different or to be frowned on. Blend in as best she could, give people no reason to look down on her. Where Freddie loved to be hated, Florence couldn't stand it. And the fact that he, in all likelihood, hated her then... Well. It wasn't the best feeling in the world. But she couldn't take back what had happened, either.
And she certainly hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable regarding that day in Bangkok. This? This is why she should just thank him again for keeping her from getting demon possessed or whatever and head right back upstairs. It was too likely to get awkward, even painful. He was being nice, far too nice to be Freddie. But she'd know him anywhere, so it wasn't like she'd accidentally ended up with Roger or something. He looked the same, he even smelled the same, despite what ever changes might have happened to him in this strange world they'd ended up in.
It was all she could do not to bite her nails again. A year away from him had caused the habit to surface again. Only in times of extreme nervousness, mind. And just then, she was extremely nervous.
But he was right. At the moment, he was the only thing familiar for miles, hell, decades. Slowly, she nodded. "Fine, then. That sounds...good." Nice didn't fit. Nice made it sound date-like and that it certainly wasn't. They'd both declared that clearly, after all. "I don't suppose coffee can change much in thirty some odd years, can it?" she asked, trying to sound light-hearted instead of anxious as all hell.