"Pozhaluysta." In case she thought he was one of those Americans who only knew one language. He did unclench a little, though, relaxing when she let that vampire air of superiority drop. As though approving of his car was a little like approving of him.

Which it might be, considering the number of hours he'd put into the old beast. The work had paid off, though, the engine purred reliably, and the way it rattled faintly was familiar.

"Never been a fan of those luxury SUVs," he admitted. "Worst of all worlds. Too conspicuous and they don't really have any performance on the road or off. About the only thing they have going for them is the legroom." Which is something if you're a passenger being ferried around town, and basically worthless any other time.

He backed out of his parking spot.

"Where are we going?"