Benevenuta rests her hands on the bench (something simple to eat - a soup she can just throw together, something simple and filling, and putting it together will ease some of that lingering tension out of her back, where it broke the way he's describing) and lets herself think her way through an answer instead of snapping at him the way she's tempted to.

Her temper, when it gets the better of her, always goes further than she means. It's better to keep a leash on it while she still can.

“It would suit me if you did,” she says, finally, and the wry tone is-- some kind of concession.