[ Geralt makes minor adjustments on the shelf first, then settles on the couch. He can hear her in the kitchen: her footsteps, the clink of glass, the opening cupboards.

He accepts the wine. Sell it flat? He supposes it's a little like what he did—bringing the pieces he sanded and carved to her home, but the idea that one can commonly purchase it that way without having worked on it first is...interesting. Poor folk will make do with what they can build with their own hands and tools. At best, they might find a neighbouring carpenter to trade. The nobility commission skilled craftsmen. There isn't anything in between like what she describes. ]

Any time you you feel like doing more, just ask.

[ He's handy by necessity. Should she ever uncover the desire to build a chair, or similar, he could likely show her.

A pause passes. Perhaps she can sense he's been building up to it from the moment he arrived at her door. He leans forward towards her. There's no easy way to broach the subject. ] I know you've had...things weighing on your mind. Since the demon. You can talk to me.