"Oh, please, don't worry about it at all," Eames says, a laugh catching in his throat, though he does start into the house proper, glancing back to make sure she's with him as if anything else seemed like an actual option. The longer he spends with her, the more certain he becomes that he's made the right call here and hasn't been misreading anything. It almost seems pointless to let this play out as if they aren't both aware of it, but she makes it interesting enough that it doesn't feel like wasting time. "Feel free to make yourself at home." Strange as it is, it isn't as if he really has anything to hide, nothing but the metal briefcase under his bed and the poker chip buried in a drawer in his bedside table.