McCoy glances at it, giving a quiet sound of acknowledgement. He pours himself some of the milk and the coffee after, extending the pot to Jim. "You want any of this?" he offers, still thinking about the woman with her curls of dark blonde hair and the way she'd smiled and stared at her hands when he'd made a joke.

Something's still not right about the air in the house, but McCoy can't put his finger on it just yet.