Her shoulders lift and fall at his unreadable glance. "I wasn't sure what you drink." Wine or beer would have been traditional, but it would have had to be good wine, and the contents of these baskets are already straining at her drum-tight finances.And what does she know about good wine? It comes in red and white, and most people use grapes, but her third cousin prefers dandelions, and she's helped with picking and pressing - there is little that Metody has never helped with - but drinking the finished product is an exercise in passing out, so she's never bothered beyond knowing to ask for help in the liquor store when she needed a bottle for out of town guests.

As for the meat, the fae of her world are decidedly predatorial. And everyone knows you need extra meat to heal.

She stands there quietly for that long, awkward moment, waiting for acceptance or rejection. If he doesn't want the basket, she'd like it back, thankyouverymuch. The contents are too expensive to just sit in the street and rot.

She smiles a little at his thanks. "You're welcome. I hope it serves you well." As soon as he has ahold of the basket, she steps back a little. "Good day, then."