It was sad. What he thought was a nice, polite, friendly way of speaking only served to make her roll her eyes at him. Even when he was being nice he had to be a git. It was so typically Freddie that, despite herself, she chuckled. "Exactly," she replied, refusing to acknowledge that he didn't like her. She didn't exactly deserve for him to like her, and she didn't much care for him any longer, but he didn't need to go around saying so!
"Oh, great," Florence muttered, learning about Starbucks and its all-American flair. Coffee wasn't even an American crop. At least, not the good stuff. The good coffee was Columbian, or Jamaican, or maybe Hawaiian, which was relatively recently American anyway. The problem wasn't where the coffee was from, though, or even how many kinds there were. It was that there were so many changes. She'd missed so much between her time and this one. New kinds of coffee was basically just the icing on the cake.
If she had any idea what he was thinking, she'd have left. She'd promised herself not to be a follower any longer. Not for him, not for Anatoly, and certainly not for the governments that had played them all. But it was instinctive. Besides, it would be rude not to follow when invited. And as they'd established, she was nothing if not well-mannered. She didn't fall into step right beside him, but a step or two behind. Not in any sort of submissive way, but to try and take the couple-like edge. And to stop herself from instinctively reaching for his hand. That...wouldn't do at all.