Sugar sees him coming and by the time he gets there, the smile and friendly manner are well in place—but the offered hand stymies her, ever so briefly. In her era, it's a thing that men do amongst themselves, and a man only takes a woman's hand to bow over or kiss it when she offers her own. But clearly rules are not the same everywhere and every...everywhen, and so she delivers her own (gloved, slightly bony, strongly built) hand to his, imitating a man's handshake as best as she can.

"Sugar," she says. Her gaze flicks to the window, where a few spatters of whatever was in the glass shine faintly on the sill. "Interesting refreshments they have here, aren't they?"