She stopped at the bottom of the short staircase. And then she turned about, watching him. Wondering what he was waiting for. But when Jack spoke, she had to clear her throat a few times and examine the peeling paint on her porch rail just to clumsily hide how surprised she was by his words. Jack had always been a pro when it came to backhanded compliments: compliments that often made her feel sick to her stomach as often as they made her feel flattered. But this one settled differently. Despite having practically begged for it, his honesty unsettled her.

She pretended that the only thing upsetting her were memories of other similarly phrased sentiments. Immortal men saying things they should never have said. I've been alive a lot longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that.

For a moment, it sounded as though Buffy might address his words. But no -- instead, she fished for her keys and tossed them to Jack in a gentle arc. "Do me a favour. Lock the door."

It would buy her time to consider her response.