He'll take a smile, no matter how small, and gives her a small smile in return before following her over and settling onto one of the couches, although not without giving it a quick bounce test first. "Aye, it is. It's good."

He means it, too. Sitting on anything not made out of Stacy-stuff is good, and it's soft enough that it's very nearly wonderful. But for now, he thinks 'good' will work just fine for a descriptor. He reaches over to pick up his cup, wrapping his hands around it and letting the steam drift up. Even with the additional milk, he'll give it a few moments more to cool before taking a sip.

"Where did ye get the tea from, anyway?"