It wasn't that Rhett wouldn't make a decision, in fact, his decisiveness had a way of rubbing people the wrong way. It was only that this was his first time in Hogsmeade, not to mention a local festival and he didn't fully know what was available without meandering for a moment to get the lay of the land. He'd seen a sign about the proceeds going to the displaced families of Irvingly and his heart sank just a little. He'd heard of their troubles recently and silently wished he could help in some fashion. Rhett was not a man who delighted in the suffering of others.

Shaking his head a little when she asked if he would be cold, he smirked just a little. It was touching that she'd asked, though he was pleased she had accepted the coat nonetheless. He looked behind her, taking in a a little more of what he could see beyond their immediate area before turning his attention back to Tabitha. “You're an awfully little thing, Ms. Chevalier, it means your coal burns cooler.” Rhett smiled to himself when he said this. “It's just some foolishness my granny used to say. I'll be alright.” He said, explaining in his strange way, why he wouldn't be as cold as herself.

“I would like that, Ms. Chevalier. I would like us to know one another a little better. I would tell you any story you wish to hear and maybe you could tell me one or two of your own. That is to say, if there is ever something you'd like to know about me, or to share something with me, I'd be happy to oblige you either desire.” He glanced down at her, but he made no attempt to force eye contact. The cowboy stepped slowly then, in the direction of Honeyduke's stall, giving her time to acknowledge and follow his lead. He didn't know his way around, but he figured he was on the right path when he saw so many people leaving the stall with steaming mugs of cocoa in their hands. His own hand moved instinctively to her back as they walked, in a warm, almost protective gesture.

When they arrived at the stall, he tried desperately to take in the decorations as quickly as he could. The counter, he thought, looked to be made of polished oak, and glistened like fresh varnish no matter how many mittens and mugs rested on it. Wreaths of dried autumn leaves and sugar-frosted berries looped around its edges, and seemed to glow faintly he thought. The air around the stall was thick with warmth and the scent of rich chocolate, cinnamon, clove, and toasted marshmallow. The scents were perfectly set against the crispness of the autumnal festivities.

Rhett's hand didn't move from her back until they reached the counter itself, where mugs were passed to them when purchased. The cocoa was dark and thick, and had been poured from a brass ladle that gleamed in the light. It looked velvety to him, and it moved in heavy, slow, and steaming swirls that highlighted the deep ribbons of chocolate. Any hope of playing the rugged cowboy was defeated when he caught the first scent of the bittersweet cocoa, a whisper of cinnamon, and the faintest ghost of toasted sugar. A sheen of cream floated on top, melting in lazy spirals that turned the drink from black silk to luxurious shades of brown.

His hand found its way to her back once again as he moved them towards a small brazier next to a gathering of chairs and benches. The warmth was refreshing and inviting, and washed over him in waves of comfortable heat. When they were seated on one of the benches, he positioned himself in such a way that their own warmth could be shared but not to make her uncomfortable with any direct forwardness. His arm was extended out behind her along the back of the bench, allowing her to be closer to him, if she desired, without the appearance of snuggling.

“I had half the mind to picnic with you, but it might be best to feed you indoors.” Rhett said, speaking of the cold. Bringing the cocoa to his lips he took a sip and rested the mug against his thigh. “You know,” he added with a pause and looked down at her with a certain care in his eyes. “I plan on taking you to that dance this evening. Would you like that, little lady?” It wasn't truly a question, but the illusion of one. His mind was made up on the matter and his voice betrayed him when he spoke.