Winter buys that response. Presley has always seemed very practical, and a beige-ish strip of fabric that costs more than some cell phones is sort of the antithesis of practical. She nods again, watching his distaste with rising apprehension, stress pulling her shoulders tight.

So of course she decides to double down on being relentlessly herself.

"It's very s-soft," is a perfectly normal thing to say, but somehow when Winter says it, with her eyes wide and almost giddy with wonder, it's weird. For emphasis, she squishes the scarf between her fingers. Then, her gaze flicks over Presley's shoulder, to the store clerk and his white knuckle grip on the counter. She gives a very slight tip of her chin in that direction, and then murmurs, "Mostly, it's funny how upset he is that I'm holding it."