He returns with the milk, his gaze flickering down to the organiser that Miles in his time probably filled years and years ago, then focuses on his cooking for a moment. Eggs and milk and spices in the bowl, mix it, and then ...

"So maybe I should take this as a sign that the wrinkles I see in the mirror really aren't that bad."

Easier to make light of it, urge Miles to think about it, than try to come out and tell him that it's been about nine years or so for him.