Loxley keeps his quarters mainly neat, but there was possibly a little bit of kicking items or scraps of clothing under his bed, wiping down the table of any crumbs or smears, levering open a window to clear the air of the scent of damp that occasionally lingers, lighting a few candles—

But you'd hardly know it, when he opens the door to her, and laughs as he accepts the the tankard. "I've always found it very profitable to let barkeeps tell their stories, for once," he says. "And it makes for good listening over breakfast."

And as he steps aside to let her in, his ducks his head to kiss her cheek. (Oh, and the last minute application of a touch of cologne.)