"It'll be good for your inventory, right? Refrigeration in the summer. It'll get warm, come late spring," he offers, uncertain exactly of how he knows that. More memories he's not sure are really his. He remembers New York, remembers his parents, remembers vague bits of traveling, but Idaho? It should be a blank. Problem is, it isn't. Taking the mug with a nod of thanks, he wraps cold fingers around it before lifting it to take a cautious sip, risking the burned tongue that's inevitable at this point and watching another part of that memory he shouldn't have fill in the gaps in his mind.

"Well, that's what I'm here for, right? Lift heavy boxes, help you get unpacked and all. Where do you wanna start?"