He was doing as well as he could, perhaps as well as anyone could be in a strange place. Logan had years of learning to adapt to living conditions that differed from the ideal, especially considering his history of travel. He did miss his cabin, but it was tucked away in a secluded niche of the Canadian wilds. It was safe, so he wasn't too concerned.
But she was right, he hadnt left anyone behind. A slew of friends and people he worked alongside, perhaps, and God knew how many memories, but nobody of importance. No great loves, no small ones left to be under foot. His wives had either died or left him (which he couldn't really blame them for that) and his children...well, as previously stated there weren't any left to really speak of. But he was used to a life of loneliness. It wouldn't stay that way for long, he always had some way of attracting people which continued to baffle him.
At her cough Logan looked concerned, but this was her first whiskey after all. All of the physical signs pointed to that, and he could faintly recall his own first encounter with the stuff. He'd probably coughed way worse than that, and honestly she was taking the stuff like a champ.
"Could smell the books on ya," Logan said softly. How could someone really pinpoint a passion for a single thing? Especially when he could do so much. "Dunno. I can do a bunch if stuff. I guess fixin' things has always been one of my talents, but I got so many it's hard ya choose just one," he explained. "Ain't really nothin' I'm passionate about anymore. Sort of done about everything there is to do at least once."