That's the opposite of what I'm used to. Christmas in New York is just a blanket of white, and you're lucky if you don't gotta shovel half of it out of your way.

[Booker eyes the name of the cafe with interest, not sure what to think of it. The interior is definitely a coffee house atmosphere -- something else that the man isn't used to. It's a bit beyond his time.

He nods at her and while Amelia goes to fetch some coffee, Booker decides to slide into a nearby booth. He figures it'd afford a bit more privacy, depending on what she wanted to talk about. He raps his fingers on the surface of the table as he waits.]