Luckily Rhoda isn't privy to that knowledge, or she'd try to start a conversation she can't finish and it would ruin the lovely flow they have going right now.

"Mm, seems like it."

He's really rather comfortable, the supple leather of his bomber jacket soft beneath her cheek, the smell of his cologne mixing with the sweat-oil-metal smell of his skin. Deciding to push the envelope, she changes the subject and shivers.

"I'm cold," she murmurs, quite obviously hinting. Let her in to your jacket, Hansen.