Yeesh, someone's been listening to too much dad rock. Or not enough. For his benefit, she'll pretend she didn't hear it over the scrape of the spoon going round the pot.

"I don't know, honestly," she answers as she looks around the place. The windows are single-paned so she can't stuff blankets in them but some could be draped and nailed across. She's not worried about staying warm as long as there's a roof over her head (and a superpower vending machine nearby: she can make firewood the old fashioned way with enhanced strength and/or, if/when it runs out, maybe manipulate her body heat directly). "I'll stock up on firewood tomorrow. As long as it stays warm in here, I should be fine. I prefer to sleep on the couch anyway."

So if he crashes, he better take the bed.